


Once in a Lifetime

by trulymadlylarry



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Anal Sex, Bottom Harry, Daddy Kink, Daddy Louis, Homophobia, Homophobic Slurs, Light BDSM, M/M, Prostitution, Rimming, Spanking, Stripper Harry, Stripper Zayn, Top Louis, Vampire Harry, Vampire Louis, Vampire Niall, but no major character death!!!, drug usage, harry has sex with a customer one time but it's not very detailed and you can honestly just skip it, liam owns the strip club, oh and there's also murder, overuse of pet names such as 'baby', there are a few scenes that are gory/bloody, ummmm what else???
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-13
Updated: 2018-02-09
Packaged: 2018-04-09 04:11:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 34
Words: 94,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4333386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trulymadlylarry/pseuds/trulymadlylarry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis doesn't kill innocent people. He kills the unwanted criminals, outcasts, and poor beggars who won't be missed. After more than two hundred years of vampiric life, he doesn't feel guilt or regret anymore. But then he meets his next victim: a young, green-eyed stripper named Harry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Bite

Through fluttering eyelashes, Harry sees an ocean of gold. Golden thongs cling to fit bodies as they twirl around golden poles. In such a dirty, grungy place, the glitter and glam distract customers from the club's flaws. The dim lighting does a nice job of hiding the peeling wallpaper and cracked floors. The air smells like sweat and smoke, but Harry doesn't mind. He's used to it by now.

His mind feels numb. As he grabs his crotch and grinds against the nearest pole, he feels no emotions.  Not arousal, not guilt, not disgust, not  _anything_. He stopped caring years ago. His brain seems to go on autopilot as he continues his routine, the spotlight burning his eyes.

A large hand reaches out to grope Harry's arse before slipping some money into his waistband. Harry forces out a smirk and wraps one leg around the pole, sinking down slowly, teeth biting into his bottom lip. The greasy pole sticks to his palms.

Harry flips his hair as he cranes his neck, oiled torso rolling against the pole. Across the room, complete strangers gawk at him, eyeing him like some sort of zoo animal. His wild green eyes scan the crowd, licking his lips slowly.

The golden light feels hot against his skin. The glitter that coats his body glimmers as he spins around the pole. He extends one arm as he slides across the stage, dipping his head down, his long hair falling in loose curls. He feels a few more hands slap his bum as the song ends. He lets out a sigh of relief.

He smiles weakly and drops down to snatch up a few notes that lay on the stage's edge. He tucks them messily in his thong, crinkling the bills in the process. The spotlight dims and he walks down the steps, eyes squinting through the sudden darkness.

"Good work," his boss, Liam, says and gives him a slap on the back.

"Thanks," Harry murmurs. "I'm gonna go freshen up, if that's okay."

Liam nods, brown eyes flickering towards the dressing room. "Sure. You've earned a break."

Harry bites his lip as he stammers towards the dressing room that's hidden behind a red curtain. He pushes it aside with an annoyed grunt. The air reeks of marijuana, causing him to wrinkle his nose. A lot of the dancers prefer to get high before performing. It takes the edge off.

He sits down in front of a large vanity. A circle of light bulbs around the mirror provide the only source of luminescence in the room. He grimaces at his messy reflection, distorted by several cracks and smudges.

Abruptly, the curtain rips open. Harry spins around in his chair.

"Styles," one of the strippers greets with a short nod.

The oil on his olive skin draws attention to his marvelous tattoos. He's been given the nickname "Angel" thanks to the angel wings tattooed on his chest, right below his collarbones. Wrinkles fill his golden thong as he plops down on the nearby sofa. Harry thinks it's a size too big, but he doesn't say anything.

"Hello, Angel," Harry smiles back.

The stripper scoffs. He reaches over to the overflowing ashtray and grabs a discarded blunt. He lights the end with a translucent blue lighter before sticking it between his lips.  He inhales sharply. 

"Don't call me that," he drawls and breathes out the smoke. His dark eyes look hazy, rimmed with red. "How'd you feel if I called you Rose? That's your strip name, yeah?"

Harry snickers. "Right. Sorry, Zayn," he laughs.

Liam gave him that name when he first started working at Fool's Gold two years ago. He saw Harry's gigantic rose tattoo on his arm and it just stuck. Liam has a habit of naming his dancers after specific features. For instance, he calls another dancer "Star" because of the five-pointed birthmark on his left shoulder.

"You've smudged off your eyeshadow, mate," Zayn notes.

He steps over to the vanity. Bottles of hairspray and makeup scatter across its wooden surface. With the joint hanging between his lips, he picks up the pallet of sparkly eyeshadow. He dips his thumb in and smears it across Harry's eyelid. He giggles underneath his touch.

Harry stares at his reflection. The gold makeup overwhelms his facial features, but he knows it's all part of the dress code. His long eyelashes flutter, still heavy with mascara.

"There," Zayn announces, closing the eyeshadow pallet. "Now you look like a true Fool's Gold stripper."

Harry sighs, taking the money out of his thong. He cards through the wrinkled bills with a frown on his face. It's not enough. It's  _never_ enough. He picks his bag off the floor and rummages through its contents. He finds his wallet and shoves the money inside.

"Rose?" Liam calls, poking his head through the curtain.

"Hm?" Harry answers, eyebrows raised.

"Your break's over. There's a nice man out here who would fancy a lap dance at table three."

Harry nods. "Okay."

With shaky legs, Harry saunters out towards the main room. He wonders if the customer will be a shy twink, an older man, or perhaps someone his own age. Harry never wanted to work at a gay stripclub, but he was never able to keep "normal" jobs for longer than a few weeks. He always fucked something up. But dancing around practically naked? He's quite good at that.

He glances at table three. A young man sits there, probably in his mid-twenties, sipping a lime margarita. His thin, pink lips curl around the glass's edge. He wears a loose black t-shirt and dark jeans that cling to his thick thighs. The minimal lighting carves shadows into the hollows of his cheekbones. His light brown hair is styled messily with bits and pieces flying in different directions.

Suddenly, his piercing eyes meet up with Harry's. He's never seen such beautiful irises. They're light blue, almost silver, with his pupils blown wide.

Harry wastes no time straddling the stranger's waist, swinging his thighs on either side of the chair. He's usually the least flexible person alive, but the thong helps him maneuver quite nicely. The man grunts out of surprise and latches his hands around to the small of Harry's back.

"Hello," Harry greets, whispering into the man's ear. "You having a good time?"

Whilst the man sputters to answer, Harry rocks his bum against his crotch. To the beat of the music, he rotates his hips and runs his hands down the man's ribcage, fingers dancing over his sides.

"Yeah," the man huffs. "How about you?"

Harry chuckles darkly. "Well, it's my job," he purrs.

The man stills for a few seconds. He squeezes Harry's arse. "Cheeky one, aren't you?"

Harry smirks. "I'll take that as a compliment."

"What's your name?" the man asks abruptly.

Harry ignores his inquiry and flips around on his lap, turning the opposite direction. He dips down to give the man a better view of his arse.  Cold fingertips trace down his spine, feeling the ridges.

"You're not going to answer my question?" the man presses, squeezing one of his bum cheeks. The palm of his hand feels freezing, like ice, but Harry assumes that's because of his frosty margarita.

"It's Rose," Harry mumbles, grinding down on his lap.

"Rose?"

"Yeah."

"Did your mother give you that name?" the man laughs. Something about his voice seems off. It's very sophisticated and ancient-sounding.

"Maybe," Harry teases, leaning his head against the man's shoulder. "What's your name?"

The man pauses. "Louis," he answers, feeling up Harry's tattooed torso.

"Well, it was nice meeting you, Louis," Harry says. He stands up from the man's lap and holds out his hand. "That'll be £15."

Louis's eyes flicker to Harry's hand. "Y'know, I could offer you a lot more than that."

Harry knows exactly where this is going, but he decides to play dumb. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," Louis echos. "It's been awhile since I've had a proper fuck."

To be honest, it's been awhile since Harry's had a proper fuck, too. He's slept with customers before, but it's not a regular thing for him. He's a stripper, after all, not a prostitute. But he can't deny that Louis is very fit. Plus, he could really use the money.

Harry hums. "There's a room for that, if you're interested."

Fool's Gold is a stripclub, but sometimes customers hit it off with dancers and need a place to take care of business. It's a gross room, however, and the bed is anything but sanitary. Harry usually refrains from using it, but right now he really wants Louis's cock. Or rather, he wants the money. Taking cock is just an added bonus.

"I'd love to," Louis says, silver eyes locked in a piercing gaze.

Harry gestures for Louis to follow. He nudges through the crowd, pushing past the mob around the stage. Zayn's busy with his routine, rutting up against a chair while the audience throws money in his direction.

The private room is located in the back, hidden behind a heavy door. He winks at Liam before opening the door and pulling Louis inside.

The circular bed sits in the center of the room. Messy sheets cover up the stained mattress. The air smells thickly of sex and sweat. He tries to suppress his inner disgust. After all, it's his job to please Louis.

"How do you want me?" Harry asks directly.

Louis doesn't give a verbal response. Instead, he pushes against Harry's oily chest until his knees knock against the bed. His hands still feel frozen, sending a shiver down Harry's spine. He presses him downward until he's sprawled out on the bed. Louis hovers over him, hands on either side of his head.

"I like your tattoos, by the way," Louis compliments.

Harry pauses. He doesn't know why he's still talking. Usually customers just fuck and leave without saying a word.

"Thanks," Harry says, but it comes out like a question. "I quite like yours, too."

"Who's Anne?" Louis asks, poking the tattoo on his bicep. It's just "Anne" written in cursive, surrounded by a red heart.

"My mum," Harry replies. "And this gem is for my sister, see? Gem for Gemma. The butterfly on my tummy is for my niece because she really likes butterflies."

Louis looks startled. He opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out.

" 'm sorry," Harry apologizes, cheeks flushing red. "I ramble a lot. You can, like, gag me if you want."

He expects Louis to crack a smile at that, or maybe kiss him to shut him up, but he doesn't react at all.  He just stares.

"Seems like you have a close family," he says eventually.

Harry furrows his eyebrows. "What? Were you expecting a sob story?" he chuckles.

"Well, sort of. I mean, you're a stripper."

Harry dismisses the stereotype with an eyeroll. "You know, I'm charging by the minute. You might want to fuck me already," he grumbles.

Louis breathes heavily as he nuzzles his nose into the crook of Harry's neck. Harry's hands travel to Louis's back. His dull fingernails scratch at his skin whilst Louis presses a gentle kiss to his collarbone.  Even his lips feel icy cold.

Harry whimpers a little, so Louis reaches downwards, hands falling on Harry's love handles. Two fern tattoos trail down towards his crotch, drawing attention to his beautiful hipbones. Louis hooks his fingers around the hem of Harry's thong. He pulls them off, sliding easily thanks to the large amount of body oil.

Harry's half-hard cock springs free, and he immediately ruts up so his erection rubs on Louis's clothed stomach. He wants Louis to get undressed already. He's used to feeling exposed, being a stripper and all, but this feels different for some reason.

Louis rolls up the thong and stuffs it in Harry's mouth. He moans around the fabric, voice muffled. Louis grins and roughly grabs Harry's throat, pushing his head up. He licks his neck once again, eliciting a quiet whine from the green-eyed boy.

Harry hears a tick. He looks around for the source, but finds nothing. A sharp feeling of pain cuts off his train of thought.

"Fuck!" Harry screams, but it comes out like "fu" around the gag.

He tries to push Louis off, but he's strong. Stronger than he expected for such a small man. He continues to suck his neck, sharp teeth digging into his skin.  His teeth feel like needles.  For a second, Harry wonders if Louis's pressed a knife to his neck.  He hears Louis suck out the blood and dig his fangs deeper.

Suddenly, Harry feels paralyzed. He can't move, but the pain is still there. Louis injected his vampire venom in order to immobilize his prey, Harry. He's hungry for blood.  _So_ hungry that he can't think straight. He hasn't drank human blood in weeks.

Louis has a special diet. He doesn't kill normal humans, per se. He prefers to kill humans who won't be missed. Humans who have no real connections to the outside world, like helpless drug addicts or past criminals. He considers it doing a favor for society— to get rid of the undesirables.

He thought Harry (or Rose, rather) was the same way. He assumed that, because Harry worked as a stripper, he couldn't possibly have a beloved family and friends. But clearly he was wrong. Harry has a mother called Anne and a sister named Gemma and a niece and— fuck. Louis can't do this.

The guilt hurts more than the hunger.

"I'm so sorry," Louis rasps, licking the fresh wound. "What have I done?"

Harry's already passed out, though. His body twitches as the venom begins to spread through his veins.

Now Louis has two options. He can either continue to suck Harry's blood until he stops breathing, killing him entirely, or he can leave him and let the venom saturate his cells. Louis doesn't know which will be a better fate. He looks down towards the bite mark on Harry's neck. It's red and swollen, teeth marks etched into his ivory skin.

"I'm sorry," Louis whispers, even though he knows Harry can't hear him.

He leaves Harry on the bed, twitching, convulsing, blood boiling. He thanks every godly being that the club's cameras won't be able to catch Louis leaving. He's invisible to them, anyway.

Perks of being a vampire.

੦੦੦

Harry awakes with little recollection of the night before. He doesn't know why he's in the club's "sex room," as they call it. He doesn't remember taking drugs or drinking an excessive amount. His head is pounding and his eyes feel sensitive to light.

The bed is sticky with a mixture of body oil and sweat. He grimaces as he peels back the sheets.

"Morning, Rose," a familiar voice says.

Harry looks up with confusion. Zayn stands under the doorway with a glass of water in his hand. He's not wearing his costume, though. Just a pair of jeans and a band shirt.

"What happened last night?" Harry croaks, voice wrecked.

Zayn chuckles. "You got lucky. You came in here with a really fit bloke after giving him a lap dance," he clarifies.

Harry grabs the glass of water from his hand and takes a slow guzzle. After swallowing, he asks, "What?"

"You don't remember?"

Harry shakes his head. "I don't recall drinking a lot— not enough to fuck up my memory."

Zayn hums. "Maybe you were drugged?"

"I don't— I don't remember," Harry grumbles, rubbing his temples tiredly. "What time is it?"

"Seven in the morning," Zayn answers.

Harry's eyes widen. "What are you doing here? The club doesn't open until nighttime."

"Well, I checked on you last night whilst Liam closed up the club, and you looked like you were sleeping. I tried waking you up, but you wouldn't budge, so I stayed until I knew you were okay," Zayn rambles.

Harry grins weakly as he sits up properly. "Thanks, Angel," he teases.

Soreness plagues his weakened body. When he reaches his hand towards his face, he feels smeared makeup across his puffy cheeks. Zayn's eyebrows furrow as he points to Harry's neck.

"Ouch, mate. Sick hickey."

Harry looks at his collarbone. "Fuck," he curses.

Part of the skin is torn off. He can see traces of dried blood on his neck. Whoever he fucked last night, he must've been kinky. When he touches the bite, he winces.

"Why don't you go home, yeah?" Zayn suggests. "You need a shower."

Harry nods in agreement. "I'm really hungry, too," he admits. He's craving meat.  _Red_  meat.

He says goodbye to Zayn and thanks him again for watching after him. On his way home, he stops at the market to buy steak. For some reason, he can't shake the feeling that he's being watched.

 


	2. The Transition

For as long as he can remember, Harry's always been very passionate about cooking and baking. When he was little, he repeatedly asked his mother for an Easy-Bake Oven until she finally gave in. He used to love baking miniature cupcakes and biscuits for his stuffed animals.

When he was a teenager, Harry landed his first job at a restaurant as a dishwasher. His boss later promoted him to a waiter position, but he fired him after a couple months. Apparently waiting tables involved patience and a sharp memory, both of which Harry lacked.

As college approached, Harry's father pressured him into engineering, but that didn't spark his interests— not one bit. He ended up dropping out of university after failing most of his courses. He couldn't possibly pay attention to something so  _boring_.

Then he met Liam at a bar and, well, things sort of just fell into place. He noticed Harry dancing drunkenly, swaying his hips back and forth, and offered him a job at his strip club. He handed Harry his card: a rectangular piece of paper with "Fool's Gold" written across the front in cursive font.

Harry had chuckled at the proposition. He couldn't possibly work as an exotic dancer. He didn't fit the stereotype— the dirty boy on the streets, scraping up enough money to buy drugs and alcohol. He came from a nice family in the suburbs. Sure, he wasn't rich, but he wasn't a beggar, either.

"Just give it a try," Liam had said. "You might just change your mind."

As it turned out, he did. One of the other strippers, Emerald, gave him a few lessons on the pole. After a few dances, he actually started to enjoy it. It felt like a huge rush— the spotlight, the money thrown on stage, the glitter and glam and golden thongs.

Stripping became second nature. Now, he doesn't think it's dirty. It's not sexual, not promiscuous, not degrading. It may seem that way to other people, but to Harry, it's just work.

Currently, Harry stands in front of his stove, hand grasping a wooden spoon. He stirs up some noodles in a large pot. He already prepared some medium-rare steak on the grill but wants something as a side dish. He likes cooking nice meals on a regular basis. It's a way to treat himself after a long day at work.

That's why he takes such good care of his kitchen. His flat looks rubbish on the outside, but over the last year or so he's managed to turn this disgusting apartment into a cozy home. Picture frames cover the walls, constant reminders of love and friendship. Little nicknacks decorate the fireplace mantel, each one reflecting part of Harry's quirky personality.

The fettuccine noodles seem nearly cooked, so he reaches over towards his cutting board. He grabs the clove of garlic and begins to chop it up with his knife, dicing it into small, bite-sized pieces. When he's finished, he scrapes it into the pot with the blade of his knife. He stirs it with the noodles and adds a bit of butter to the finished product.

Living alone has its ups and downs. He likes the privacy, the ability to do whatever he pleases. But he hates the lonely nights, the quietness, the lack of conversation for days at a time. Plus, he usually cooks too much food for one person, and leftovers never taste as good the second time around. So, yeah... that sucks, too.

He sits down at his dining room table. It's really just a foldable card table because he can't afford the fancy wooden kind. He's covered it with a tablecloth in an attempt to hide his utter stinginess.

The noodles taste slightly spicy, and he doesn't know why. He didn't add any spices— just garlic and butter and a bit of olive oil. The pasta burns his tongue and scratches down his throat. He only takes a few bites before stopping. He washes it down with a large gulp of water.

The meat satisfies him, though. The steak is perfectly pink in the middle. He's never been much of meat-eater, so this sudden craving catches him off guard. Maybe it's just weird hormones.

He decides to take a quick shower before work, washing off all the body oil, glitter, and bitter guilt.

੦੦੦

Fool's Gold opens at eight p.m., but Harry arrives a little after seven to get ready. He stands in the dirty dressing room with all the other strippers. Smoke fills the room, distorting Harry's vision as he moves through the crowd of oily, sculpted bodies. He wrinkles his nose with disgust.

"Rose!" a raspy voice calls out.

Harry looks up to see another stipper called Jaguar. Nobody really knows his real name. Harry thinks it's Jackson, or maybe Jonathan, but he doesn't bother asking. Jaguar suits him, anyway. Freckles dot his cheeks in the shape of cat whiskers, starting at his nose and curling outwards. His hair is a light brown colour with red undertones. Harry thinks Jaguar has the best muscles out of all the dancers. He looks like a character out of  _Magic Mike_.

"Yeah?" Harry answers timidly.

"Angel told me about what happened last night. You alright?"

Harry laughs nervously. "Yeah, I guess. I don't remember anythin'."

Jaguar glances down at Harry's neck, his green eyes widening. "Fuck, Rose. That's one hell of a hickey," he says in awe.

The bite still looks swollen and red, a small scab covering the torn skin. It feels dreadfully painful to the touch. He can still see the fading remains of pointed teeth marks.

"Here," Jaguar says, picking up a pallet of powdered concealer. He dips a fluffy brush into the light powder, then brushes it over the bitemark, trying to cover up the redness. "Don't want customers to think you're taken. It's bad for business," he explains.

Harry hums in agreement. "Thanks, Jag."

With that, Harry stumbles over to the vanity and sits down. He stares into the mirror and furrows his eyes with confusion. His reflection appears... translucent. Not completely invisible, but still faded. He can see the outlines of his cheeks and some of his facial features, but he looks blurred, as if he's peering into a foggy mirror after a steamy shower... except everything around him looks normal.

Harry frowns. He blames it on the heavy smoke in the room. It doesn't make logical sense, but it's enough to calm his nerves. Neglecting his fuzzy reflection, Harry blindly applies some gold glitter to his eyelids.

He stands up from the vanity and rummages through his bag. He ignores wandering gazes as he takes off his clothes and slips on his golden thong. He flattens out the creases with his palms.

Outside of the dressing room, the lights dim and the music starts to play. The beat vibrates the wooden floors, filling Harry's stomach with rattling nerves.

A hand rests on Harry's shoulder. He jumps a little and looks up to see Zayn, completely startled.

"Didn't mean to scare ya', mate," Zayn apologizes. "You sure you're okay from last night? You seem anxious."

Harry nods as he pushes back the curtain. "I'm fine," he assures.

Reluctantly, they go their separate ways. Harry heads up to the stage whilst Zayn occupies the main floor, offering horny men lap dances. Harry forces out a smirk as he approaches the golden pole. Fingerprints coat its shiny surface.

He looks out towards the crowd. It's fairly empty, which is both a relief and a concern. Less people equals less pressure, but also less money. The spotlight focuses on Harry as he grips the pole, eliciting a few hollers and whistles from the audience.

Harry slowly circles the pole, his hips swaying back and forth. His mind falls into a state of familiarity. He doesn't think— just moves. He moves to the beat of the music, remembering his routine with ease. He sticks out his bum and runs his fingers through his long hair. The loose ringlets bounce up and down whilst he wiggles his arse.

A large hand smacks his bum as another tucks some money into his waistband. Harry turns around to face the man. He's middle-aged, probably cheating on his spouse judging by the ring on his finger. Harry suppresses a scowl and continues his routine.

The spotlight feels hotter than usual. He pants a little, tongue poking out past his pink lips. He flips his hair and hooks one leg around the greasy pole, twirling around like a graceful ballerina. Some of the dancers can do flips and tricks on the poles like real gymnasts, but not Harry. He just spins around and grinds and shows off his arse. It's just as effective, though. The crowd loves it.

The song finishes, allowing Harry to let out a sigh of relief. The spotlight dims and Harry wipes his sweaty forehead with the back of his hand. He glances downward to see money thrown on stage. He collects it quickly, stuffing the crumpled bills into his thong.

With trembling thighs, Harry steps off the stage. Liam greets him with a comforting smile.

"Nicely done, Rose," he compliments.

Harry nods, his breathing heavy. His lungs feel tight and constricted.

"Thanks," he breathes.

"I like the gold contacts, by the way. It's a nice touch," Liam says.

Harry scrunches his eyebrows. "My what?"

"The golden contacts," Liam laughs. "They look quite nice on you."

Harry doesn't know how to respond because, well, he doesn't own golden contacts. He stares at Liam in silence for a few seconds.

"I, um, I have to use the restroom," Harry murmurs. "I'll be right back."

Harry scurries to the bathroom in the back of the club. He swings open the door urgently and slips inside, feet sliding over the cold tiled floors. He ignores the disgusting smells and gross surroundings. He's almost certain that this mold-filled restroom wouldn't pass an inspection. The stall doors lack proper hinges, the sink's drain clogs on a regular basis, and the hand dryer has been broken for three weeks now.

He walks up to the sink and stares into the dirty mirror. His heart jumps in his chest. He doesn't see anything— just air filling his space. He blinks a few times to make sure he's not hallucinating.

"Fuck," Harry breathes, pressing his fingers to his temples. Confusion begins to overwhelm his body. This isn't physically possible. He's never heard of reflections disappearing like this, apart from silly myths and vampiric legends.

"Rose."

His hairs stand on end. Goosebumps pepper his pale skin. He turns around on his heel towards the source of the voice. The bathroom's window is cracked open halfway. A man stands outside wearing a dark trenchcoat and trousers which, Harry thinks, is odd for the middle of summer. He's quite attractive with sharp features and a stubbly beard. His light blue eyes stare into Harry's with intensity.  

"What are you doing there?" Harry panics. "How do you know my name?"

The man cracks a smile. "I've been watching you," he purrs. "You don't recognize me?"

Harry gulps and shakes his head slowly. "No. Should I?"

The man chuckles softly. "I suppose not. Sometimes venom fucks with your memory— gives you a bit of amnesia."

Harry narrows his eyes. "What are you talking about?"

"It's a long story," the man confesses, "but I know what you're going through right now. You must be quite confused."

Harry nods. "Yeah, definitely... and you're creeping me out, to be honest. Do you want me to call security?" he threatens.

A smug smile tugs on the man's lips. "You wouldn't do that. You want answers, don't you?" he taunts.

Harry frowns. "Yes."

"Well, I'm the only one who can give them to you. You ought to just come with me. You'll start to change soon and, trust me, you'll want to be somewhere safe for the transition," the mystery man rambles.

"Transition?" Harry spits. "Transition to  _what_?"

The man licks his lips. "I'd like to discuss this somewhere more... private."

Harry laughs bitterly. "I'm not going  _anywhere_ with you."

"I'm trying to help you, Rose," the man insists. "Let me help you. I'm guessing the craving's have already started, yes? You're thirsty for bloody meat. Your eyes have changed, too, and now your reflection has vanished. It's only a matter of time."

Harry chest tightens with nervousness. "Until what?"

"Oh, so now you want my help?" the man teases. "Tell your boss that you're going home early— that you're feeling ill."

"You want me to lie?"

"Not exactly. It's minimizing the truth."

Harry huffs. "How do I know I can trust you?"

The man bites his lip and glances down at the wound on Harry's neck. Most of the makeup had smudged off with sweat.

"I gave you that," he admits. "And if you're smart, you'll let me help you."

Harry hesitates for a few seconds. "I don't even know your name," he huffs.

The man touches the window sill, his hands pale and filled with blue veins. "It's Louis Tomlinson," he says.

"Okay," Harry murmurs, clearing his throat. "I'll meet you out back in a few minutes, Louis."

With that, Louis walks away, his heels clicking along the pavement. Harry curses under his breath and paces back and forth. He doesn't understand what just happened. He doesn't understand  _anything_ anymore.

He leans over the sink and splashes his face with cold water. When he looks at the mirror again, he doesn't see his reflection. He pinches his arm but, no, it's not a dream.

Harry runs a hand down his face and walks out of the bathroom. He's absolutely terrified. He spots Liam amongst the crowd, a black suit clinging to his fit body. He walks towards him nervously. He fidgets with his hands nervously.

"Liam?" Harry says, tapping his shoulder.

"Oh, there you are, Rose. A man at table seven would like a lap dance. Also, Jag took Star's shift, but they overlapped, so I'd really appreciate it if you took the pole at eleven," Liam rambles.

Harry pauses. "Actually, erm, I wanted to tell you that I need to leave early."

Liam raises an eyebrow. "What's wrong?"

"I'm feeling quite ill," Harry lies, placing his hand over his stomach. "I just threw up in the toilet."

Liam frowns. "I'm sorry to hear that. You should get some rest. Feel better, okay?"

"What about Star's shift?"

"I'll handle it," Liam insists, dismissing it with a flick of the wrist. "Take it easy."

Harry thanks him with a short nod. He disappears into the dressing room and changes into his normal clothes: black skinny jeans, a floral blouse, and some short leather boots. He stuffs his thong into his bag and walks out the back door. The outside air feels warm and humid. The sun has disappeared, leaving behind a black sky peppered with stars.

He spots a shiny red Porsche parked alongside the road. Louis sits inside, his fingers tapping the steering wheel with impatience. Harry bites his lip and approaches the car cautiously. Louis gestures for Harry to get inside.

Harry climbs in, welcomed by the feeling of leather-covered seats. The interior looks sleek and beautiful. It still has that new-car smell.

"Where are we going?" Harry asks.

Louis switches on the engine. The Porsche purrs loudly as he drives away from Fool's Gold. The sound of loud music and the sight of bright lights fade behind them.

"My house," he says after a few seconds. "It's been twenty-four hours since the bite. It's almost time."

Harry's eyes widen. "Time for what?"

"Look, I don't know how to tell you this gently," Louis says hesitantly. "I've only done this a few times before."

"What do you mean?" Harry presses.

"This wasn't my intention, okay? I didn't want you to go through this. I just wanted to kill you and get it over with."

Harry freezes at the word 'kill.' No words come out.

"The truth is," Louis sighs, "I'm a vampire and, well, now you are, too."

At first, Harry doesn't know how to react. He studies Louis's face as they drive along the dimly-lit streets. The Porsche's headlights illuminate the road before them.

"Vampire?" Harry chuckles.

"Yeah? You've never heard of them? The human-like monsters with fangs that drink blood?" Louis asks rhetorically.

Harry rolls his eyes. "Right. The same mythical creatures that talk like 'blah, blah, blah,'" he says, giving his best Transylvanian accent.

Louis scoffs. "That's very stereotypical, you know that? Also, the misconception that we can turn into bloody bats is absolutely ridiculous. And don't even get me started on  _Twilight_."

For a second, Harry wonders if this man has some sort of mental condition. Then again, nothing really makes sense anymore. Ever since he woke up, everything's felt different.

"I don't believe you," Harry insists, crossing his arms over his chest.

Louis sighs as they stop at a red light. He switches on his blinker before turning to Harry. He opens his mouth, showing off his pearly white teeth. Harry doesn't understand, though. Louis's teeth look perfectly human-like. Before he can ask any questions, however, he hears a tick. His canine teeth lower slightly and sharpen to a point. Harry feels completely startled. Louis smirks and points to his fangs.

"See these babies? Sharp enough to cut through human flesh," he brags. The light switches green and he turns down a gravel road. Stones crunch underneath the Porsche's tires as they drive along, a canopy of trees hanging overhead.

"I don't understand," Harry huffs. "You're saying... I'm a vampire now?"

Louis nods. "The venom is currently saturating your cells."

"And  _you_ turned me into a vampire?"

"Yes," Louis says with a sigh. "But that wasn't my initial intention. I just wanted to suck your blood until you died."

Harry's eyes widen. "Why _me_? I don't even know you!" he demands.

Louis frowns. "My diet is different from most vampires. I don't kill innocent people. I only kill criminals, scumbags, those who won't be missed. Those who would be better off dead."

Harry scoffs. "I'm not a criminal! And I have a family who loves me very much. Just because I'm a stripper doesn't mean—"

"I know that now," Louis interrupts. "You have a mother called Anne and a sister named Gemma and lots of friends. I already feel guilty for judging you, okay? No need to make me feel even worse."

Harry blinks silently. "How do you know that stuff?"

"You told me yourself."

"I did?"

"Yeah, when we hooked up. Of course you don't remember, though."

Harry's face flushes, pink rising to his cheeks. "We hooked up?" he murmurs.

"Sort of. It was just an excuse to get you alone," Louis confesses. "But we didn't do anything together, so don't worry. I stopped myself because I— I couldn't kill you."

Harry frowns. "I still don't understand. Why are you helping me?"

Louis doesn't respond for a few seconds. Harry listens to the quiet radio buzzing through the car's speakers.

"I wish I had someone to help me when I was bitten," Louis grumbles, voice low. "I was so confused and scared. I didn't have anyone. My own family banished me and said I was a monster. The townspeople tried to burn me alive. They accused me of witchcraft because I never aged."

Harry's heart swells with compassion. "I'm sorry to hear that," he mumbles. "If you don't age, how old are you?"

Louis bites his lip. "I'm twenty-three."

Harry tilts his head to the side. "No, I mean, how old are you  _really_?"

Louis's hands tighten on the steering wheel, his knuckles turning white. "I don't know. What year is it now? I've lost track."

"2015."

"Well, I was born on Christmas Eve of 1791, so I guess that means I'm 223 years old," Louis says quietly, almost out of shame.

Harry looks surprised, to say the least. He watches Louis's face, how his blue-silver eyes focus on the road, searching for obstacles. Despite his vampire invincibility, he wants to be safe.

"You're pretty attractive for 223," Harry compliments.

Louis laughs cutely. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. You don't look a day over 200," he jokes.

Louis rolls his eyes. "Maybe I should've killed you after all."

Before Harry can come up with a witty reply, Louis turns sharply into a driveway. It's located in the middle of the woods, trees lining the stone path. Distantly, he can see a log cabin nestled between some tall pines. It's topped with a chimney and decorated with square windows.

"You live here?" Harry asks. It looks like something out of a horror movie. Then again, perhaps his life has become one.

"Temporarily," Louis responds, unclicking his seatbelt. "I'll relocate eventually. Sooner or later, people start to realize that I don't age. Usually takes about ten years before I have to move again."

Harry swallows the lump in his throat. "Will that happen to me, too?" he asks worriedly. To be honest, he'd rather be burned alive for witchcraft than leave his family behind. They're all he had.

"Unfortunately, yes," Louis sighs. "I'll explain everything later. Just come inside."

Harry nods. He follows behind Louis like a lost puppy. His eyes fall to Louis's bum, admiring how his trousers hug his arse cheeks. Harry's only twenty-one years old, and here he is lusting for someone over two hundred years his senior.

"Welcome to my humble abode," Louis greets, unlocking the front door.

He pushes open the heavy oak door. It squeaks loudly, sending a shiver down Harry's spine. Then again, that may be a result of the sudden rush of cold air from inside the cabin. Although rustic on the outside, the interior appears relatively modern. Wooden panels cover the floors, dotted with rugs and sleek furniture. He notices the antiques that line the walls on shelves, from old soda bottles to random heirlooms. Each nicknack reveals a piece of Louis's past.

"Pretty," Harry breathes at loss of words.

"Thanks," Louis replies. "Make yourself at home. Would you like something to drink?"

Harry raises an eyebrow. "You have human drinks? Like, besides blood?"

Louis chuckles as he steps into the kitchen. The openness of the cabin allows Harry to watch Louis grab a kettle a place it on the stove.

"That's another misconception about vampires," Louis laughs. "We don't  _just_ consume blood. We need it to survive, and if we don't have it, we'll shrivel up and die. It's a very painful way to pass away. You can eat or drink all the normal stuff you want, but without drinking human blood, you'll basically die of starvation."

"So vampires can consume normal stuff, too? Like tea or milk or biscuits?"

Louis smiles at Harry's excitement. "Yes. Although overtime, you'll lose your human tastebuds. I can't taste anything besides human blood anymore, but... but I still like drinking tea. I like the warmth of it. It's comforting."

Harry nods understandingly. "I suppose I have a lot to learn," he mumbles.

"Well, I have an infinite amount of time to teach you," Louis explains. He lets the tea simmer on the stove and turns back towards Harry, who sits on the couch awkwardly, hands folded in his lap.

"I know this probably seems really scary," Louis sympathizes. "I'm sorry I did this to you, but I— I'm going to make up for it, okay? I promise. I'm not a bad guy."

Harry frowns. "I believe you. I'm just confused about... a lot."

Louis picks up the kettle and pours the tea into two mugs. "Milk or sugar?"

"Just a bit of sugar, please."

Louis plops in two sugar cubes. He glances down towards the mug, watching as the cubes dissolve into the brown liquid. With caution, he carries them out to the living room and sits down next to Harry, handing him his mug.

"Thanks," Harry says softly. He takes a slow sip, sighing as the warm tea soothes his sore throat. The steam curls up towards his reddened face.

Louis sets down his mug on the coffee table. "So, the first thing you should know about being a vampire is that you don't have to, like, murder people on a daily basis."

"No?"

"No. Sucking the blood out of one full-grown adult can last you an entire month, maybe even more," he informs.

Harry shudders. "I can't— I can't kill anyone," he begins. "I'm too nice."

"I know you might think that at first, but your vampiric instincts will kick in eventually. You can't stop the urge no matter how hard you try," Louis explains.

Harry nervously plays with a stray piece of hair that falls over his forehead. He twirls the soft brown curl around his finger.

"What about animal blood?" he wonders.

Louis shakes his head. "That doesn't work. It needs to be human."

Harry chuckles darkly. "I guess I'll starve to death, then, because I'm not killing another person."

Louis places his hand delicately over Harry's thigh. His gold-tinted eyes look up with fear. He's scared of the future. He's too young to go through this.

"I'll help you, alright? For however long it takes," he assures. "And y'know, I usually break into prisons and take blood from the worst criminals, like child molesters or murderers, because they have life sentences anyway. It's not as evil as it may sound."

Harry sniffles. "How do you even break into a prison?"

"It's quite easy, actually," Louis mumbles. "Security cameras can't pick up vampires, so we just have to watch out for guards."

Harry takes a few seconds to process the information. To be honest, it didn't sound too cruel. Those criminals were going to rot in jail regardless.

"Okay," Harry says slowly, his voice barely a whisper.

"But you don't have to worry about that now," Louis insists. "You need to focus on your transformation because, well, it's not the most pleasant thing in the world."

Worry washes over Harry's face. "What do you mean?"

Louis squeezes Harry's knee with reassurance. "You're going to grow fangs within the next couple hours, and it'll be incredibly painful."

Harry whimpers. "How painful?"

"It's just a lot of pressure on your jaw."

Harry cups his cheek, terrified. "Anything else I have to know about the transformation?"

"Nope," Louis says instantly. "This the last step, meaning the venom has taken over most of your body. Your eyes have turned gold, which means you're hungry. They'll go back to green after you've drank some blood."

Harry grimaces. "That sounds absolutely disgusting."

"You'll get used to it," Louis shrugs.

"How will I know when my fangs start growing?" Harry worries.

Louis ponders that for a moment. "Well—"

Before Louis can answer, Harry lets out a loud, high-pitched shriek of pain. He clenches his jaw, hissing with agony. His eyes immediately start tearing up, glistening over his golden irises. That's another misbelief about vampires: they  _can_ cry.

"Shit," Louis curses, standing up from the sofa. He scurries into the kitchen, his heart clenching at the sound of Harry's cries, knowing that  _he_ caused them. He reaches into the icy freezer and pulls out a bag of frozen peas.

"Louis!" Harry nearly screams, sobbing into the couch's soft armrest. "It hurts!"

Louis hushes him and plops down next to him. He gently cups Harry's cheeks, his fingers cold like icicles. He presses the frozen bag to Harry's jaw.

"Here, this will help," he promises. "Just relax your jaw. It'll hurt more if you keep your mouth shut like that."

It feels like a thousand little needles pricking at Harry's gumline. His eyelashes flutter as a few tears drip out, trickling down his porcelain cheeks.

"Hurts so bad," Harry whimpers, voice shaking. "How— fuck— how much longer?"

Louis frowns and brushes the hair out of his golden eyes, using the other hand to keep the coldness on his jaw. "It could be a matter of hours. I'm really sorry. I know it hurts."

Harry clenches his fists, his nails leaving marks on his palm. "Ow," he whines.

"Here, squeeze my hand. It'll relieve some of the tense pain," Louis offers. He holds out his hand, his bones protruding from his pallid skin. Veins string through his hand like spiderwebs, connecting at certain points and then spreading outward.

Harry hesitates. "Don't want to hurt you," he chokes out.

Louis chuckles softly. "I don't feel pain anymore, Rose. Just squeeze my hand."

Bottom lip quivering, Harry reaches for Louis's hand. He crushes Louis's palm tightly until his knuckles turn red. Louis just sits there, culpability burning in his stomach. This is all his fault. He caused this pain.

"Tell me a story," Harry begs, eyes pleading. "Distract me, please?"

Louis nods. "O-okay," he stutters.

He has loads of stories. He's gone through so many lives that he's lost track. He was born in France, but he relocated after his transition. He never saw his family again. They're long dead by now, anyway. Whilst he continues to live for eternity, they  already passed on.

"You told me about some of your tattoos yesterday," Louis starts delicately. "Let me tell you about some of mine."

Harry sniffles, wiping the tears with the back of his hand. "Alright."

Louis points to his arm. "I get a new tattoo each time I relocate. It reminds me of my journey," he clarifies. "You see this compass?"

He points to the tattoo on his forearm. It looks incredibly detailed. A star sits in the center with points going in four directions. The arrow points towards the word 'home.'

"Yeah," Harry chokes out, his sobs quiet now.

"I got it when I was a sailor in Spain in the 1800's," he remembers.

"Really? You used to be a sailor?"

Louis grins. "The greatest of them all."

Harry giggles adorably. "What about this one?" he questions, pointing to the stag on his bicep. It's beautiful with gigantic antlers. It almost looks like it's mounted to his skin.

"In the 70's, I lived in Canada," he explains. "I worked as a taxidermist."

Harry frowns. "A what?"

"It's a person who stuffs dead animals for a living."

Harry wrinkles his nose. "Seems like an appropriate job for a vampire, I suppose."

"It's not as morbid as you may think. Sometimes I stuffed people's pets— y'know, dogs, cats, sometimes even guinea pigs."

Harry laughs a little through the pain. "What's this one mean?" he presses. He touches the horseshoe on Louis's forearm. It's small, barely noticeable amongst the other doodles.

"I was an American cowboy back in the day," Louis recalls, using a classic southern accent. "Used to have a ranch and everythin'."

Harry chuckles, dimples forming in his soft cheeks. "Will you get a tattoo to represent living here, too?" he asks.

"Someday," Louis says with a nod. He presses the bag of peas closer to Harry's swollen cheek. "How does it feel? Still hurt?"

He nods faintly. "Yeah, but— but I'll be okay. Do you have any painkillers?"

"They won't work, unfortunately. Medicine can't help since your blood is saturated with vampire venom," he explains. "I'm sorry, Rose."

Harry frowns, poking his tongue towards the roof of his mouth. He can feel his canines sharpening and elongating. He nearly cuts his bottom lip on the razor-like point.

"You'll get used to the fangs," Louis promises. "And soon you'll be able to control them, like me."

Harry hopes he's right.

"Oh, and one more thing," Harry murmurs, struggling to talk with his swollen cheeks.  He feels like he's holding marshmallows in his mouth. 

"Yes?"

Harry smiles. "My real name's not Rose. It's Harry."

Louis pauses for a few seconds. "Harry," he repeats, liking the way it rolls off his tongue.

Harry spent the rest of the night with frozen peas pressed to his face, lulled to sleep by Louis's marvelous stories of world travels.


	3. The Thirst

  Harry awakes to the sound of birds chirping.  A crow squawks outdoors, perched high in a tree, its sharp, black beak releasing an ear-splitting caw.  It continues for a minute or so, just screeching towards the cabin's half-open window.  Harry grumbles in annoyance and covers his ears with his hands.  He's exhausted.  Eventually, the crow ruffles its feathers and flies away.

    Now that Harry's awake and conscious, he starts to feel the pain in his jaw again.  It's sharp, like syringes shooting in gum line.  When he swipes his tongue over the roof of his mouth, he feels sharp, long canines.  The taste of his own blood lingers on his lips.

Everything aches, from his head to his toes.  His chest hurts, too, like a fire blazing in his lungs.  Each breath feels constricted, like there's not enough air.  He wheezes quietly.

He tries to open his eyes, but it burns.  He winces and shuts them again.  He pinches the bridge of his nose and tries to focus on breathing.   _Inhale, exhale, repeat._

He hears someone enter the living room. "Ros- I mean, Harry. Are you awake?"

Louis shuffles closer to the couch.  Harry tries to look, blinking rapidly, but he can't.  It stings.

    "Don't open your eyes," Louis instructs.  He sits at the edge of the sofa.  The cushions compress under his weight.  "Your eyes are adjusting to the change of color.  I reckon it hurts like hell."

    Harry nods and rubs them with his knuckles.  "Fucking miserable."

    "I'll get you some eye drops," Louis says, giving Harry's hand a reassuring squeeze.  "Be right back."

    He listens to Louis's steady footsteps as he leaves the room.  Harry shifts on the lumpy couch.  He squints his eyes through the blurriness.  A knitted quilt drapes over his lap, made of scratchy wool that tickles his skin. When he looks out the window, he sees a burst of sunlight that illuminates the entire cottage. 

    Harry sits patiently and glances around.  Dozens of books fill the shelf in the corner with their colorful spines facing outwards.  An antique globe sits on top.  Against the wall, he sees a table with scattered papers and, oddly enough, an old typewriter.  Louis seems like an educated man, Harry thinks.  Then again, he's had two hundred and twenty three years to learn.

    A few seconds later, Louis returns.  "Told you not to open your eyes," he tsks, but there's a hint of teasing in his voice.  Harry glances at the small bottle in his hand.

    "You think that'll help?"

    "I know it will," Louis sighs.  He places his index finger under Harry's chin.  His touch feels icy.  "Tilt, please."

    Harry throws his head back.  Louis thumbs at Harry's eyelid, urging it open.  He squeezes the bottle, and a few drops drizzle out, splashing against his lashes and leaking into his eye.   

    "Ouch," Harry seethes, flinching a little.

    "Don't move," Louis says sternly.  He stops, reluctantly.  "It'll help, okay?  Trust me."

    Harry frowns.  "It hurts, though."

    "Only temporarily," Louis assures.  He moves on to the other one.  He compresses the bottle and it dribbles, the clear liquid cascading into Harry's bloodshot eyes. 

    "Fuck," Harry swears, blinking away his tears. 

    " 's okay," Louis promises.  "Sometimes when I haven't eaten in a long time, my eyes turn  _really_ silver, almost metallic.  I use the drops to help ease the pain."

Harry bats his lashes and tries to clear his vision.  "Who knew being a vampire was so painful?" he murmurs.

Louis chuckles.  "You'll get used to it."

"Doubt it."

Harry can see normally now.  He examines Louis's face, how he looks pale and thin, his cheekbones hollowed.  Dark circles plague the skin under his eyes.  His lips are a light shade of pastel pink.

"You look ill," Harry notes.  "Is that, like, a vampire thing?"

Louis shakes his head.  "Not really.  I'm just hungry.  Haven't eaten in three weeks now.  I was supposed to feast the other day, but-"

"But you decided not to kill me," Harry finishes.  Louis opens his mouth to speak, probably to make it seem less gruesome, but Harry says, "It's okay.  No need to sugarcoat it."

Louis pauses.  "Right, sorry."

"I'm a big boy.  I can handle the truth, you know," Harry teases.

But Louis disagrees.  Becoming a vampire isn't something that people can come to terms with overnight.  It needs to be a gradual process, taking it one step at a time.  He doesn't want Harry to become overwhelmed.  Except, he doesn't know how to tell Harry that without making him feel patronized. 

So instead, Louis settles for, "Okay."

Harry's eyes fall to the blanket on his lap.  He fiddles with the edge, fingers lacing through the yarn-like tassels.  He looks nervous, hesitant to speak up.

"What's it like to, um, kill someone?" Harry asks abruptly, and his voice wavers around the word 'kill.'

Louis blinks in silence for a few seconds.  "It's difficult at first," he says eventually.  "For a few years, I killed innocent people- anyone who smelled good, really.  I was a monster, but I was young and reckless and angry at the world."

Harry bites his lip, his fangs piercing the soft, pink flesh.  "What changed your mind?"

Louis swallows the lump in his throat.  "I killed my best mate, John, accidentally," he murmurs.  "I lost control.  It was a careless, selfish decision.  I'll always regret it."

Harry looks surprised.  "That's... wow."  He can't form a proper sentence, no matter how hard he tries.

"I paid the price.  The village immediately blamed me.  John and I'd been working in the fields when I snapped, so I was the first suspect.  The townspeople tried burning me alive- accused me of witchcraft and such."

Harry frowns.  "What'd you do?"

"Ran away," Louis says sadly.  "Abandoned my family and my home.  Took my horse and fled to France."

Harry's about to apologize again when a sharp pain interrupts, making his jaw clench tightly.  His teeth feel over-sensitive.  As his canines continue to lengthen, he bites back his tears, eyes pinching shut.

"I'm sorry, darling," Louis says, caressing Harry's swollen cheek.  The silly pet name tugs at his heart.  "I'll go fetch some ice, okay?  The pain will stop soon."

Harry blinks away his tears.  "Promise?"

"Promise," Louis confirms with a nod.  "Your fangs are almost fully-grown."

Harry whimpers.  "It hurts."

"I know," Louis sympathizes.

He stands up from the couch and hurries into the kitchen.  Harry listens as opens the freezer and scoops some ice into a ziplock bag.  He pinches the seal, clicking it shut as he squeezes his index and thumb together.

"Thanks," Harry murmurs as Louis returns to the couch.  He presses the ice to his jaw.  It relieves some of the pain, but not all of it.  Just takes the edge off.  The lumpy ice cubes clank together as he moves the bag around, adjusting it near his cheek.

"Feel better?"

Harry nods in response.

"Good.  I can fetch you some ice cream from the market, if you'd like," Louis offers.

It catches Harry off guard.  He's not used to being taken care of.  Since dropping out of university, he's been on his own, and he's grown to like it that way.  But it's- it's nice to be pampered every once in a while.   _Really_ nice.

"I'm okay, thanks," Harry says, because although he appreciates the gesture, ice cream sounds unappetizing at the moment.  He wants something else.  Something bloodier.

"Well," Louis grunts, standing up from the couch.  He flattens his palms down his torso to smooth out the creases in his black t-shirt.  It's tight and form-fitting with a white skull in the center.  "Holler if you need anything.  I'll be in my office."

Before he can leave, however, Harry sputters, "Wait."

Louis turns on his heel, eyebrow arched.  "Yes?"

"Why am I still here?" he wonders.  "Like, no offense, but why do I have to stay?"

Louis sighs quietly.  "To be safe, I think you should stay with me until your cravings start.  It can be intense at first, impossible to control.  Don't want you hurting anyone."

Harry nods understandingly.  "Alright."

With that, Louis walks into his office.  The tall, oak door leads to a square room.  His bare feet squish across the carpeted floors as he steps towards his desk.  It's enormous, a glass panel covering the surface, covered with dirty fingerprints.  Loose papers, notebooks, and books scatter the desk, interlaced with pens and highlighters. 

A long bookshelf lines the back wall, which is painted a dark shade of green.  The books are organized alphabetically.  Needless to say, Louis has a lot of spare time on his hands.  Most of the books are old, leather-bound, the pages yellowed and torn.  There's an entire section of the shelf dedicated to Vlad the Impaler.  Louis loves history, especially if it deals with vampires.

Louis rummages through his desk drawer until he finds his favorite quill pen.  It's white with a sharp, chiseled tip, and the feather is compressed a little where Louis rests his hand.  He unscrews the jar of black ink and swirls the tip of the pen inside, mixing it up.

He writes about wild flowers, of all things, and describes the multiple species that he's found on his plot of land.  The bluebells, yellow primrose, and red poppies.  He describes them to the best of his ability.  He doesn't know why, but he loves writing, loves the feeling of putting words on paper.  He would often write about nonsense to keep himself entertained.

The ink glides along the crisp, white paper.  He writes in cursive.  Before he can start a new paragraph, he dips his feather pen in the ink, twirls it around.

Suddenly, there's a soft knock at the door, followed by a muffled, "Louis?"

Louis glances up.  "Come in."

Harry steps in his office.  He looks miserable and dirty, still wearing his outfit from the night before.  "What's your wifi password?" he asks shamelessly, words puffing past his chapped, bitten lips. 

"It's 'tommo28,'" he laughs.

Harry smiles and types it in his phone.  "Thanks."

Louis loves the versatility of his small cabin.  It's the perfect blend of modern and old-fashioned.  As much as Louis appreciates new technology, sometimes he likes to go back to his roots.  This shows through his decor, how he embellishes his home with both antiques and contemporary machinery. 

"Is that a paperweight?" Harry asks, gesturing to the glass ball on Louis's desk. 

It's clear and heavy, filled with little air bubbles.  A large beetle is encased inside the glass, enlarged like a magnifying glass.  The blue insect is shiny, almost metallic.  Harry picks it up and examines it, then narrows his eyes.

"Yes it is.  Cool, innit?"

Harry nods.  "Very."

"Y'know, I discovered that species," Louis muses, eyes never leaving his paper. 

Harry's eyes widen.  "Really?"

"Yup.  Darwin and I found it at the Galapagos in 1835."

Harry nearly chokes on his own tongue.  "Darwin, as in Charles Darwin?" he huffs.

"The one and only."

"That's- that's incredible," Harry praises, setting the paperweight back on his desk.  "We read about that expedition in textbooks.  It's such a huge part of history."

Louis smiles, waving his hand dismissively.  "It's really not a big deal.  Darwin did most of the work.  I was just a simple crew member."

"Are you kidding?" Harry scoffs.  "That's insane, Louis.  Stop being so humble."

Louis just shakes his head.  "I'm a man of science, is all," he insists.  "As I grew up, I watched physics and chemistry and biology change around me.  It's fascinating, don't you agree?"

Harry hums.  "I'm more into engineering, to be honest."

"Engineering?" Louis asks, confusion in his voice.  "Thought you were an exotic dancer."

Harry rolls his eyes.  "I am, you dolt.  It just... wasn't my first career choice."

Louis nods.  "I see," he mumbles. "But for the record, you're quite good at it."

Harry blushes at the compliment.  "Thanks."

"You're welcome," he says, eyes flickering to the door.  "Now if you'd excuse me, I have work to do.  You can help yourself to anything- my computer, telly, whatever.  Just let me know if you start feeling... different."

Harry wonders what "different" means, but he leaves the office anyway, with pink flushing his cheeks. 

੦੦੦

Several hours later, Louis is still busy in his office.  Harry decides to take a shower, hoping he won't mind.  After all, Louis  _did_ say he could do whatever he pleased. 

Louis's bathroom is relatively small and simple, its walls filled with aged photographs and old paintings.  So Harry shimmies out of his skin-tight jeans and flower-patterned blouse, which is now filled with wrinkles and smells like sweat. 

Glass panels surround the shower, making Harry feel exposed.  The steady stream of water trickles down his sore muscles, wetting his hair, soaking his skin.  The air humidifies with each passing second.  He scrubs his shoulder-length hair with Louis's Axe shampoo.  It smells like "refreshing mint," according to the bottle. 

Then he moves onto body wash, uncapping the bottle and squirting a liberal amount of white liquid into his palm.  It's fruity, like citrus, and it makes him feel awake as he cleanses his skin with a wet cloth.  The hot water falls like raindrops, dribbling down his pale, cold-blooded body. 

Harry finishes with conditioner, threading his long, spindly fingers through his curls.  It instantly feels softer, like silk, smooth to the touch.  He sighs as all the caked-on body glitter and oil washes down the drain.  Sparkles swirl around the bottom of the shower.

His jaw still feels tense, but he tries his best to ignore it.  He steps out of the shower with water dripping off his body.  He quickly fetches a fluffy, white towel and wraps it around his waist.  He's about to put on his old clothes when Louis knocks at the door.

"Harry?" Louis says, his voice pitched higher than usual.  " 've brought some clothes for you."

Harry smiles and opens the door.  Louis stands there, blushing, struggling to keep eye contact.  Louis uses every ounce of strength to not look down.  Water trickles down Harry's abs as he stands there, his wet feet leaving prints on the tiles. 

"I, um, here you go," Louis mumbles, completely flustered.  He hands him a pair of grey sweatpants and a loose white t-shirt. 

Harry grins smugly.  "Thanks."

Louis gulps.  He glances down at Harry's hips, how the towel dips low on his waist.  His love handles poke out, all pudgy and cute.  Louis just wants to squeeze them.

Harry takes the fresh set of clothes and holds them under his arm.  "By the way, I have to work tonight.  My shift starts at seven."

Louis bites his lip.  "Okay.  You oughta let me come with, just in case."

Harry arches a brow.  "In case what?"

"In case something bad happens," Louis sighs.  "You're still in your transition phase.  You're like a ticking time bomb."

Harry grumbles in annoyance.  "I don't need a babysitter."

"I promise I won't bother you," Louis assures.  "I'll just sit in the lounge and enjoy the view."

Now it's Harry's turn to blush.  He tugs the towel tighter around his waist.

"Right, well.  Thanks for the clothes."

He closes the door in Louis's face.  And when he slips on the sweatpants and t-shirt, they're too small, clinging to his skin like a straitjacket.  But he doesn't complain.  They smell nice, anyway- like Louis.

੦੦੦

Later that evening, Fool's Gold is completely packed, thanks to their special "half-priced Tuesdays," where all lap dances are fifty percent off.  It usually draws in a large crowd, and tonight is no exception. Countless horny men fill the club with fistfuls of cash.  Peeking through the dressing room's curtain, Harry sees nothing but gold.  Gold thongs, gold glitter, gold jewelry, gold lights, gold poles.  

The air smells like smoke and weed.  Zayn sits with Jaguar on the couch, rolling up a couple joints.  Harry hopes he looks alright, up to the club's standards.  After all, he can't check his reflection in the mirror.  Louis had assured him that he looked sexy, but he still feels doubtful.

Harry pulls back the curtain and squints his eyes.  He spots Louis in the crowd in front of the main stage, where another stripper, Emerald, shows off his routine.  Emerald is incredibly flexible, probably the most athletic of the lot next to Jaguar.  He bends his back as he dips down, hands gripping the oily pole.  The audience cheers.  Dollars flutter on the stage.

He has swarthy skin like dark chocolate, smooth and rich.  The oil makes him look glazed.  His golden thong hugs his bum tightly, not a wrinkle in sight.  His biceps flex as he rotates around the pole, his smooth legs gliding up and down.  And nobody can deny that his package is  _huge_.  It grabs everybody's attention, including Louis's, apparently.

Louis sits back in his chair, licking his lips hungrily.  He holds a beer in his hand.  He squeezes the bottle's neck as he watches Emerald like a hawk.  He sort of camouflages into the darkness with his outfit of black, with the exception of his eyes.  His silver irises glow brightly.

The song ends.  Emerald gathers his money and tiptoes off stage, receiving a pat on the back from Liam.  Now it's Harry's turn.  He takes a deep breath, trying to steady his heartbeat.

"You sure you're feeling better?" Liam asks cautiously.  "I can ask Jag or Angel to take your shift."

Harry just shakes his head, unable to speak without revealing his fangs.

Liam frowns.  "Sore throat?" he guesses.

Harry nods.

"Alright, well.  Good luck out there, Rose," Liam encourages, giving him a pat on the bum towards the stage.

He saunters up the steps with faux confidence.  His legs shake like jello.  He can feel the puffiness in his cheeks, the soreness in his gums.  He knows he can't smile, can't talk to anyone.  He can't control his fangs yet.

The spotlight burns his skin, but he pushes through it.  The audience cheers and claps as Harry shakes his hips, a toothless smirk on his lips.  He catches Louis's gaze in the crowd and keeps it for a few seconds, gold meeting silver.

The track starts abruptly, pounding through the speakers.  Harry snaps back into reality and grips the pole.  It's slippery with sweat and oil.  He rolls his body against the pole, his head lolling to the side.  He flips his hair over his shoulder. 

Harry curls one leg around the base of the pole, spinning slowly.  When he shakes his bum, the crowd applauses and roars and throws paper bills on stage.  He sticks out his arse and a few meaty hands grab his cheeks, slipping some dollars in the elastic waistband of his thong. 

He throws his arms over his head and grasps the pole backwards, then drops to the floor of the stage, hands gliding down.  When he glances at Louis, he's gripping the armrests of his chair tightly, his teeth clenched together.  His knuckles turn white with frustration.  Harry stares at him as he stands up in one swift motion.  In his mind, Louis is the only one in the room.

The spotlight burns on the back of his neck, but he tries his best to ignore it.  He needs to finish the routine.  When he hears the bass drop again, he knows the song is almost over.

He grinds against the pole for a while.  His mind begins to drift off, his body falling into auto-pilot.  He feels a couple slaps on his bum, a pinch or two, a few more dollars stuffed in his thong.  Louis continues to stare at him, watching him like some sort of animal.  And perhaps he is.  He looks completely wrecked as he twirls around the pole like a filthy, horny ballerina.

The music stops.  The crowd cheers, full of drunken hollers and wolf-whistles.  Harry gathers the money off the stage's floor, struggling to fit in in his thong.  He blushes as he steps off the stage.  He can still feel Louis's burning gaze.

"Good work, Rose," Liam compliments, squeezing his shoulder.  "The man at table six would like a lap dance with you.  Don't talk unless spoken to, yeah?  Don't want you hurting your voice."

Harry's exhausted, worked-out from his routine, but he nods anyway.  He pushes through the swarm of sweaty, horny men.  Most of them are older, with balding heads and barrel bellies.  Louis definitely looks the youngest of the crowd, despite his age of over two hundred years.

The man at table six looks older, probably in his mid-thirties.  He has brown, wiry hair and a mustache, his arms filled with bulging muscles and tattoos.  He looks Harry up and down, eyes hidden behind a pair of thick-lensed glasses.

Harry breathes out a quiet "hello," making sure not to show his fangs.  He straddles the man's lap.  His milky, smooth thighs fall on either side of the chair.  A few of his friends sit next to him, or at least Harry thinks they're his friends, judging by the way they're giving him pats on the back and words of encouragement.

The man's hands fall to Harry's bum.  He moans softly and grinds down on his lap, arms looping around his broad shoulders.

"What's your name?" he asks, almost screaming over the loud music.

"His name's Kevin," one of his mates answers instead.  "He's gettin' married to his husband, Carlos, tomorrow.  This is his bachelor gift before they tie the knot."

Harry smirks, nuzzling his nose behind the man's ear.  He rocks his bum against his crotch, causing his hands to squeeze his arse cheeks.  He then runs his sweaty hands up and down Harry's bare torso, tickling his ribcage.  Harry bites back a moan.  The flashing lights flicker across the club, the music vibrating the floor.

When Harry nuzzles his nose into the crook of Kevin's neck, rocking back and forth in his lap, he inhales his scent.  He smells good.   _Really_ good.  So good it makes Harry's mouth water.  He's never smelled anything like it in his entire life. 

His lips ghost over his neck.  His mind blurs.  He feels the urge to bite down, suck his blood, drain everything out of him until he's cold and lifeless.  The craving hits him suddenly, abruptly, without any warning. 

One of his mates crack a joke about not telling Carlos, that this would be a secret between them.  Harry can barely hear their voices now.  His brain is chanting  _bite, bite, bite_.  He presses a gentle kiss under his jaw, then down his throat.  His teeth graze over his skin. 

Suddenly, a cold hand grasps Harry's bicep.  He yanks him off of Kevin's lap.  Harry looks up to see Louis standing there, angry and red.  Harry feels like he can barely breathe.  He just needs to bite something, or rather,  _someone_.

"Come with me," Louis orders.

Harry frowns.  Kevin and his mates start to complain, urging Harry to come back, but Louis ignores them and tugs him along through the club.  His icy hand tightens around his wrist.

"I- I need to finish my job," Harry insists, voice shaking.

Louis scoffs.  "You're gonna kill someone, Harry," he spits.  "I saw the way you looked at his neck.  You're craving it, aren't you?"

Harry can't answer.  Just stares in silence.

"Aren't you?" Louis presses, raising his voice over the music.

Harry nods shamefully.  "Yeah."  And, fuck, he's shaking now.  His hands start twitching, his tongue throbbing in his mouth. 

"C'mon, Harry.  We're leaving."

Harry shudders.  Everything looks red- bloody red.  The smell of flesh begins to overwhelm his senses.  

"Need to tell Liam first," Harry chokes out.  "Need to get dressed.  Clothes in dressing room."

"We don't have time," Louis growls.  "You'll kill an innocent person if you stay here any longer."

He drags Harry through the packed club and out the back door, his shoulder nudging to push it open.  A rush of chilly air hits Harry's skin, his thong being his only piece of clothing.  His bare feet ache as Louis jerks him through the parking lot.  He stumbles over pebbles and potholes through the darkness.  The sun has already set, leaving behind a sky of black and a crescent moon.

"Get in," Louis says urgently, opening the passenger door of his shiny Porsche.

Harry does, weakly, sliding into the comfy seat.  His bare thighs feel cold against the leather material.  He crosses his arms over his chest, feeling dizzy and overwhelmed.  He doesn't even feel like himself anymore- like he's standing outside of his body, the thirst for blood possessing his soul.

Louis sticks his key in the ignition.  Harry whimpers, clenching his fists.

"I need-"

"I know, Harry," Louis interrupts, speeding out of the lot.  He leaves skid marks behind.  As they drive away from Fool's Gold, the pounding music fades away, replaced with the rumble of the car's engine.

"Where are we going?" Harry grits out, his fangs digging into his bottom lip.  The crumpled bills in his thong press against his skin, but he pays no attention, too distracted by his vampiric urges.

"The cottage.  We need to get you away from people for a little while, until you calm down.  All those scents must've triggered you- so many humans in one room."

Harry starts to cry.  He presses his temple to the glass window, watching as trees zip by.

"It'll be alright," Louis assures.  He presses his foot to the brake as they approach a red stoplight.  He places his hand on Harry's thigh, squeezing it with reassurance.  "Do you trust me?"

Harry sniffles.  When he looks up, Louis sees tears staining his reddened cheeks.  A hint of sparkly makeup still glistens on his eyelids.

"I trust you," he breathes.

The light turns green and Louis turns down the gravel road, both hands gripping the steering wheel.  Harry whines and bites his fist in an attempt to suppress his craving.  It doesn't work, though.  If anything, it just makes it worse.

"Everything will be okay," Louis insists, but his voice sounds echoed in Harry's mind.

He starts to feel dizzy, overwhelmed with thirst.  He sees stars burst behind his eyelids. 

The last thing he hears is a worried, "Harry?"

His world fades to black.


	4. The Plan

Harry feels like he's drowning. His throat clogs up as he gasps for breath. He flails his arms and twitches his legs, reaching for something to grasp. He thinks he's floating. Fuzziness fills his brain, almost like his skull is stuffed with raw cotton. He wants to open his eyes, but he can't gather up the strength.

A metallic taste lingers on his tongue, liquid gurgling up his gullet. He chokes and wheezes for air. Cold hands caress his cheeks, but his vision is still as black as the night sky. Icy fingertips touch his lips.

"Harry?" he hears distantly, echoing in his head. "You okay? Wake up, please."

Harry thinks he might be in Heaven. Apparently God has an angelic Yorkshire accent.

"Rose?" the voice continues. "Come back to me, love."

His eyelids feel heavy. Eventually, light flickers through his long lashes. He tries to choke down the liquid that slurps between his lips.

"There you go," the voice hushes. "Good boy."

Harry squints. His blurry vision begins to clear. He sees the outline of Louis's face, a blob of pallid skin and silver eyes.

"Lou?" Harry croaks, fluid swallowing the last syllable of his name.

He's sat on the sofa in Louis's cottage, propped upright with a throw pillow. Louis holds a glass of red liquid in his hand, a straw nudging towards Harry's mouth. Blood, he soon concludes. It drips down his chin.

Harry swats the cup away and scowls.

"You've got to drink it, darling," Louis sighs. "You're starving yourself."

Harry whimpers weakly. "No."

Louis tilts his head. "Please, Harry. I don't want you to faint again."

Once again, the straw slots between Harry's plump lips. Out of instinct, he sips. The blood tastes warm and bitter. He doesn't like it, but his animalistic needs take over his morals. He can't stop. He slurps until the straw chokes at the bottom of the glass, gathering nothing but air. It's empty.

"Good job," Louis praises, rubbing Harry's back soothingly. He sets the glass on a nearby coaster that rests on the coffee table.

Harry grimaces. "I just drankblood."

"You did," Louis confirms with a nod.

"Did you— did you  _kill_ someone?" he asks timidly. He reaches up to touch the excess blood that oozes from the corners of his mouth. He wipes it away with the back of his hand.

"No," Louis chuckles. "I had an emergency supply in the fridge."

"Emergency supply," Harry repeats slowly.

"Precisely. Although, that was my last bottle."

Harry nods slowly. He's still wearing his Fool's Gold thong. Glitter and oil glistens on his tummy. The last thing he remembers is riding in Louis's car, and then blackness.

"Wha' happened?" he croaks.

Louis frowns, settling a hand on Harry's bare thigh. Their knees knock together. Despite the couch's large size, Louis insists on sitting extremely close to Harry. To protect him, perhaps. His tiny feet brush against Harry's ankles as he speaks.

"Your cravings kicked in at the club. You passed out in the car. I had to carry you inside," Louis recalls. "You went completely unconscious. Scared me half to death."

Harry bites his lip. His fangs pierce the skin, but he's still slightly numb.

"You're already dead," Harry teases, poking Louis's tattooed forearm.

Louis snorts. "You're ridiculous."

Harry just smirks. "Thank you for helping me, though."

" 's the least I could do. I'm the one who did this to you, after all."

Harry doesn't know how to reply, so he just nods.

"And now that I'm out of blood, we  _really_ need to go hunting," Louis admits. "I'm growing weaker every day. You're a newborn vampire, so your cravings will be intense for the first few days."

Harry pauses. "I don't like that term."

"What?"

"Hunting."

"Why not?"

"Because they're  _people_ , Louis. Not animals."

Louis rolls his eyes. "Humans  _are_ animals, Harry. They're mammals."

Harry crosses his arms over his chest. "You know what I mean."

"Then what do you suggest we call it?"

Harry frowns. "I dunno. Collecting?"

"Collecting," Louis echos with a mocking tone. " 's not a hobby, you know. We kill humans for survival."

Harry sniffles as a few tears glisten in his golden eyes. He blinks them away. "I just— I don't like feeling like a monster."

It breaks Louis's heart. He feels overwhelmed with guilt.

"You're not a monster," Louis reassures. "We kill rapists and serial killers and domestic abusers. _They're_ the real monsters, not us."

Harry raises his brow. "Who's 'we'?"

"Us. The nice vampires. The criminaltarians."

Harry snorts at the ridiculous name. "Criminaltarians?"

"Yes. It's like vegetarian, but for vampires who only eat evil humans."

"I know. I just didn't know it had such an absurd term."

Louis huffs. "Shut up, Harry. Will you let me speak?"

Harry slumps back into his seat. He swallows the lump in his throat. It's not Louis's fault, though. Hunger always gives him a short temper.

"I'm sorry," Louis quickly apologizes. He squeezes Harry's palm for emphasis.

He waves his hand, dismissing it. " 's fine. Just tell me what you want to say."

Louis clears his throat. "Alright. Well, we need to go hun— I mean,  _collecting_. Freshly-bitten vampires need a lot of blood to fully transition. That's when the craving reaches its peak. So I suggest we either go to the county jail soon or find our own criminal on the streets. Got anyone in mind?"

Harry hesitates. "What do you mean?"

"Is there anyone who you think  _deserves_ to die? Someone who's hurt you or someone you love?" Louis clarifies.

Harry inhales a sharp breath. He's a nice lad. He doesn't  _hate_ anyone. To put it simply, he loves love. He doesn't hold many grudges against others. So needless to say, this question catches him off guard.  He can't imagine hating someone that much— to think that he or she deserves death as the ultimate punishment.

"No," Harry admits. "No. Not at all."

Louis raises an eyebrow. "Nobody?"

And then it hits Harry like a ton of bricks. Of course. Why didn't he think of this sooner?

"Mitch," Harry blurts out. Yeah, he wouldn't mind killing Mitch. He'd do it in a heartbeat— that is, if he had one.

"Who's Mitch?"

"This bastard who used to go to the club every week. He cheated on his wife. He's a complete scumbag. He had a special liking for my co-worker, Zayn. One night, he pulled Zayn into an alley and assaulted him, left him with a black eye and a busted lip."

Louis frowns. "That's awful. Was he arrested?"

"No," Harry scoffs. "Liam refused to call the cops. Since it happened on Fool's Gold property, he thought he'd get in trouble for not caring for his employees, or whatever."

Louis thinks Liam might be an asshole, but he'll save that conversation for later.

"Anyway, now Mitch stalks Zayn and makes his life a living hell. He won't leave him alone. Liam banned him from the club, but that doesn't stop Mitch from following Zayn everywhere he goes."

Louis nods understandingly. He can sense the anger in Harry's voice as he speaks.

"Well, Harry, I think we found our next meal."

୦୦୦

"You look like a robber," Harry giggles, watching as Louis flattens the creases in his black t-shirt. They both settled on dark clothing, for security purposes. It would let them blend into their surroundings. This is a vampire's version of hunting camouflage.

Somehow, Harry managed to squeeze into a pair of Louis's black joggers. He wears a baseball cap that covers his curly hair. His eyes are the brightest part of his body. Gold, like two shiny coins. His pale skin contrasts against his colorless attire.

"Come here," Louis urges, patting the edge of his bed.

They're in Louis's bedroom now, getting ready for the evening hunt. It's sleek and minimalistic, Harry thinks. White paint coats the four walls, matching each piece of furniture. Framed photographs and paintings hang above his headboard. Dying plants rest in his windowsill, withered away from lack of water. Their decaying leaves fall to the white, carpeted floors.

Harry plops on his mattress. Louis stands in front of him with a pallet of face paint. He dips his index finger into the black pigment, coating it completely. He draws two thick lines beneath Harry's eyes, on the apples of his cheeks.

Harry wrinkles his nose. The paint feels colder than his own lifeless flesh.

"I don't understand how this is supposed to help me blend in," he grumbles.

Louis laughs dryly. "Just go with it. I've seen it in films."

Harry sighs in defeat. "Fine."

Louis smudges the last bit of war paint. "All done," he announces, closing the pallet. He stands back and grins. "Gorgeous!"

Harry wants to look in the mirror, but he can't. He doesn't have a reflection.

"I hope you didn't draw a penis on my face," Harry murmurs.

Louis chuckles. "No, darling. You look perfect."

Harry grumbles incoherently. Apparently hunger makes him moody as well.

"Let's get going, yeah?" Louis urges, gesturing outside. "You said Mitch usually waits down the street from Fool's Gold around midnight, right?"

"Yeah," Harry confirms with a short nod. "He waits there until Zayn's shift ends. He's a creepy bastard.  I usually have to walk Zayn home, otherwise Mitch'll try to catcall him. Or worse, physically hurt him."

Louis feels sick to his stomach. He can't stand the thought of having a stalker like that, someone who constantly threatens and follows your every move. It disgusts him. And besides, Louis has never liked cheaters— especially abusive ones.

"You're a good mate, Harry," Louis breathes.

"He's my best friend, but..." Harry can't find the right words.

"But?" Louis presses.

Harry gulps. "But I don't know if Mitch deserves to die. I mean, of course he's a terrible person, but is it cruel of us to take him away from his wife? From his family and friends?" His voice cracks over the last few words. Louis can sense that he's about to cry.

Louis hushes him, sits on the bed. The mattress compresses under his weight. He rests his hand on Harry's shoulder.

"Harry, don't cry, please. This is about survival. You'll  _die_ if you don't drink blood. Don't you understand that?"

"Of course I do! But it feels so  _wrong_ ," he insists. He fiddles with his rings, hands folded up in his lap.

Louis caresses his knee. "It's okay, Harry. It's normal to feel guilty the first time. But you need to understand that this is no different than a coyote killing a rabbit, or a pack of lions slaughtering a gazelle. Humans are no longer our same species. They're a food source."

Harry's bottom lip wobbles. A single tear slips down his porcelain cheek.

"I don't want to kill anyone," he chokes out, his voice barely a whisper.

Louis shakes his head. "You don't have to. I'll do it. You can just watch."

Harry wipes his wet eyes. He went from complete anger to crying in less than a minute. Mood swings, Louis thinks, are a sign of vampiric starvation. He can see the dark circles under Harry's eyes, how his irises glow with hunger. They need to find food soon, before it's too late.

"Come on," Louis encourages, jingling his car keys in his hand. "Let's go." 


	5. The First Kill

Yellow light drowns the long stretch of road, street lamps shining in the midst of darkness. Louis's cold hands grip his steering as they approach Fool's Gold. Harry's eyes focus on its flickering neon sign. The second 'o' looks duller than the other letters, he thinks. Distantly, they hear loud music blaring at full volume.

Harry hasn't checked his phone in a while, but he's certain Liam texted or called at least a dozen times. He's usually very punctual. He's never ditched work before. He's never left halfway through his shift, either. Liam tends to worry a lot, so Harry can't help but feel guilty.

He glances at his watch. "I should be on stage right now," he murmurs. "Liam's going to  _kill_ me for skipping. What if he fires me?"

Louis frowns. "You can't be a pole slut right now, Harry. You nearly killed a man last night whilst giving him a lap dance," he says, chuckling softly at the end. Harry, however, doesn't see the humor in it.

"Don't call me that."

Louis pauses. "Don't call you what?"

"A pole slut."

Louis rolls his eyes. "Relax. I was joking."

Harry crosses his arms over his chest. He tries to glare at Louis, but he's too busy looking through the windshield. He switches on his turning signal as they approach a stoplight. The green arrow blinks inside his dash.

"Well," Harry sighs, "it's not funny. It's degrading."

"Alright. How would you like me to refer to your occupation, then?"

"Stripper or exotic dancer."

"Okay, then. From now on, you're Harry the stripper."

Harry rolls his eyes, leans his head against the car window. His temple presses against the cold glass. They fall into an awkward silence, just listening to the sound of traffic and city life. Girls in tight dresses and stilettos walk along the pavement, and Harry watches them carefully as they pass by, noting their disheveled appearances. Frizzy hair, caked makeup, dizzy walking. Prostitution is like a black hole— it swallows innocent souls and holds them captive for eternity. There's no escape. Harry prays to every divine being that he'll never wind up like that.

Louis bites his lip as he parks his Porsche next to the curb. They're a few blocks away from Fool's Gold, next to a sketchy hair salon and a run-down autoshop. This part of town seems deserted.  Perfect for killing, Louis thinks. He feels weak and fuzzy with hunger burning in his belly. He needs to eat. The craving tugs at his brain, an insistent reminder that he needs blood.

"Listen, Harry," he grumbles, his hand still resting on the shifter. "I'm sorry if I come off as ignorant. I've just never met someone like you."

Harry's golden eyes flicker for a moment. "Someone like me?"

"Yeah, you know. The stripper type," he explains. "I tend to befriend more... sophisticated people."

Harry huffs with annoyance. "I'm not a 'type,' Louis. I'm a stripper, yes, but I'm other things as well. It's just my job."

"I know, but—"

"Can we just follow the plan, please? Mitch should be here any second now," Harry interrupts, his voice gone bitter.

Louis needs to learn how to bite his tongue. Or better yet, he needs a thought filter. He doesn't purposely act in an ignorant manner, but he can't help it. He was born in the late 1700's, after all. The modern world is much different, and needless to say, he still has a lot to learn.

"Sure," Louis breathes, turning off the engine. "Let's go."

Harry climbs out of the car. The air feels chilly, goosebumps rising on his vampiric skin. Darkness consumes the landscape. Stars prick the black sky, a crescent moon glowing brightly with a yellow-tinted hue. Harry prefers the nighttime. The lack of light, the coldness, the mystery. It's all so comforting.

"Mitch usually waits here," Harry says, pointing towards a dark alleyway. A dumpster rests against a brick wall, littered with roaches and rats. It smells like rotting flesh.

"Here?" Louis scoffs. "Next to the rubbish bin?"

Harry shrugs. "He's banned at Fool's Gold, so he stays here and smokes until Zayn's shift ends. Then he follows him home, usually, or tries to attack him."

Louis freezes. "What do you mean by 'attack'?"

"Corners him, tries to grope him, roughs him up a little bit. He's a bastard."

Louis grimaces. "What a scumbag."

Suddenly, Harry's eyes widen, his pupils dilating like a full moon. He glances over his shoulder. Panic washes over him, as if he's just seen a ghost.

"C'mere," Harry hisses, grabbing Louis's petite wrist. 

 He tugs him down the alley, then crouches behind the dumpster. Louis curses under his breath.

"What the hell?" he gasps, a little out of breath.

Harry clamps his hand over Louis's mouth. His palm feels like ice. 

 "It's Mitch."

Louis glances up. A tall man approaches and leans against the wall. A cigarette bobs between his lips, the burning orange tip glowing in the dark. He wears a white t-shirt filled with holes and unidentified stains. His denim jeans look a few sizes too large, sagging below his waistline. His barrel belly pokes out under the hem of his tee. He narrows his eyes down the street, watching Fool's Gold intensely.

"What a creep," Louis says quietly.

Harry just nods in response. They wait silently for a minute or two, simply watching Mitch, studying his movements. A breeze rolls by, carrying a whiff of Mitch's scent. Louis shivers with hunger.

Louis gives Harry a thumbs up to signal that their plan is a go. They need to act quickly. When he's certain the coast is clear, Louis sneaks out from behind the dumpster. Mitch has his back turned to them now. Louis tiptoes quietly, swift and silent like the wind. He's done this hundreds of times; he's killed many people. But that doesn't make it any less nerve-wracking.

Harry watches nervously, chewing on his nails. He doesn't even notice that he starts crying. He feels like a monster, a murderer, but his vampire instincts can't be stopped. They  _need_ to do this, no matter how much he doesn't want to.

Abruptly, Louis grips Mitch's arm with his extraordinary strength, spins him around before he can even blink. His cigarette flutters to the concrete ground. Louis pins him against the nearest wall, wrapping him in a chokehold. Mitch gasps for breath, tries to scream, but Louis just tightens his bicep.  The man's face pales as the oxygen leaves his lungs. He attempts to fight back and flail his limbs, but Louis is far too strong. He could probably shatter a skull with just his pinky finger.

Wanting to escape any wandering eyes, Louis drags Mitch further into the alley where they can't be seen. Harry blubbers on the ground and shields his eyes. He can't watch.

Louis smashes Mitch's face against the bricks. His arm locks around the man's throat and suffocates him with each passing second. Harry whimpers and tries to muffle his own sobs, still cowering behind the dumpster.

"It's all over now," Louis whispers. 

He sinks his fangs into Mitch's throat where his neck meets his shoulder. Mitch gasps for breath, his blue lips trembling.

Relief floods through Louis's body. He sucks the man's warm blood, finally satisfying his hunger. His eyes flutter with satisfaction. In a matter of seconds, Mitch's dead body falls pliant in Louis's grasp. Louis continues to slurp his blood greedily, sucking at his throat with urgency. Feeding is one of the few times that Louis actually feels  _alive_. He'll never grow tired of this sensation, no matter how gruesome the circumstances.

"Harry," Louis gasps, forcing himself to pull away. He needs to save some for Harry. He needs it more, being a newborn vampire and all.

Harry glances through the slots of his fingers. He looks absolutely horrified. He's trembling with his knees curled against his chest. Louis doesn't know if he's shaking from fear or hunger, or perhaps a little bit of both.

"Harry," Louis repeats, sharper this time. "We've got to hurry. Take a bite so we can leave before someone finds us."

Harry just shakes his head. "I— I can't," he stutters.

Louis sighs impatiently. "Harry—"

"I can't! I won't do it!"

"For fuck's sake, Rose!" Louis grits out.

"I can't!"

Feeling frustrated, Louis turns back to Mitch and takes a large gulp at his wound, filling his cheeks with lukewarm blood. The redness oozes out of the corners of his mouth. Then he releases Mitch's limp body, letting him fall to the cold ground. He lands with a loud thud. He's pale and bloodless, his eyes still open in a creepy manner. Harry feels sick to his stomach as he stares at the dead body.

Louis grabs Harry's collar and heaves him off the concrete. It doesn't take much strength. Harry is incredibly weak now, in dire need of blood to quench his thirst. Regardless, he's letting his morals overtake his survival. Louis decides to take matters into his own hands.

Still holding a mouthful of Mitch's blood, Louis presses his lips to Harry's, forcing his lips apart with his tongue. Harry doesn't fight back. The blood transfers into his mouth, and suddenly he's gulping like his life depends on it. Perhaps it does.  

He sips through Louis's lips, sucking and nibbling.  He can't suppress his instincts.  Once his taste buds sense a single drop of blood, there's no turning back.

Harry breaks off the kiss with a gasp. He blinks at Louis with surprise.

"What the fuck?" he asks blatantly. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. "Why the hell did you kiss me?!"

Louis rolls his eyes. "Don't flatter yourself. I'm trying to save your life."

"Fuck off! I can take care of myself," Harry grunts.

"Prove it, then!"

With that, Harry crouches next to Mitch's deceased body. He latches onto his throat, creating two new prick marks in his pallid flesh. Louis watches as Harry drinks what little amount of blood remains. It's metallic and addicting. His body tingles all over.

Harry hums with pleasure. He feels possessed by his own inner desires. Oddly enough, it doesn't feel  _wrong_. It feels good.

"Enough," Louis snaps, smacking Harry's arm to get his attention. "We've got to go. It's almost daybreak."

Harry releases with a puff of air. His chest is heaving, as if he's just run a marathon. Blood drips from his soft, pink lips. He's a beautiful contradiction of innocence and impurity.

"Wh-what about his body? Our saliva is all over him! He's crawling with our DNA," Harry points out.

Louis shakes his head. "You're a vampire, Harry. Your DNA is foreign to police databases. It's completely different from a human's."

Harry's still worried. He runs a hand through his long, brunette hair. He looks back at Mitch's corpse, how his dark eyes still appear pierced with fear. A feeling of dread sinks in. They just  _killed_ somebody. Holy shit.

"I know you're in shock," Louis begins, rubbing his shoulder soothingly. "But we need to hurry. Let's get you back to the cabin, alright? Get you tucked in and warmed up. Would you like that?"

Harry doesn't respond. He follows Louis wordlessly as they exit the alleyway, leaving Mitch's body curled up against the wall. He accidentally trips over his feet once or twice.  The streets are still empty, save for a few wandering pedestrians and prostitutes. Louis leads Harry back to his shiny Porsche.

They climb in silently. Neither of them exchange a single word, unsure of what to say. Louis decides to let Harry process it all. He thinks back to his first kill over two hundred years ago, how scared and nervous he felt.

Harry's face looks glazed over, stuck in a daze. His eyes appear naturally green again, having satisfied his hunger. A bit of dried blood still stains his upper lip, but Louis doesn't mention it. He's too spacey to buckle up, so Louis reaches across the console to fasten his seat belt.

The car's tires skid as they flee the scene. Louis speeds down the street as they settle into an uncomfortable silence. Harry stares at his hands, his expression nearly impossible to decipher. Louis doesn't like the sudden quietness. It speaks the truth, which he fears more than anything else.

"Can't believe we did that," Harry squeaks, fingers trembling over his own lips. Mitch's taste still lingers there.

"I'm proud of you," Louis assures. His blue eyes stare through the windshield. The headlights produce bright streaks of yellow, illuminating the road before them.

"We killed him," Harry mutters.

Louis senses his guilt. "We had to, Harry. We didn't have any other choice."

Harry blinks in response. Stray droplets of blood stain his hands.

"I want to go home," he whispers eventually.

Louis barely hears him over the buzz of the radio. "Huh?"

"I want to go home."

"We are going home, love. We'll be at the cottage soon."

"No," Harry seethes. "I want to go  _home_  to my flat. Alone."

Louis takes his eyes off the road for a few seconds. He sends Harry a quick glare. 

"I don't think that's a good idea," Louis murmurs. "You're still learning how to be a vampire. You're unstable, Harry."

Harry frowns. "I'm capable of making my own decisions, thank you."

"Harry—"

"I want to go home  _now_!"

The harshness of his voice startles Louis, causing the car to swerve a bit. He grips the steering wheel tighter.  

"For fuck's sake, Harry! Calm down," he orders. "If I had a heartbeat, you would've given me a heart attack!"

"Don't tell me what the fuck to do! You're not in charge of me."

"I'm trying to look after you! You're not safe on your own. "

Harry crosses his arms over his chest. Stubborn, Louis thinks. Ridiculously stubborn.

"Take me to my flat, Louis," Harry says coldly.

Louis swallows the lump in his throat. Through the darkness, he can still see the glimmer of tears in Harry's pretty eyes.

 "After all I've done for you,  _this_ is how you repay me?" he snaps.

Harry scoffs. "I don't owe you anything. I wouldn't be a vampire in the first place if it wasn't for you!"  

And, ouch, that hurts.  

"Rose, c'mon," Louis pleads, his voice gentler. He's genuinely worried about Harry's well-being, both mentally and physically. "Let me take care of you."

Harry's bottom lip wobbles. He stares at his lap.

"No. Take me back to my flat, please."

Louis's heart shatters. He knows it's probably just hormones and emotions. After all, killing a human being isn't easy the first time around. But that doesn't make the rejection hurt any less.

They drive without speaking another word. And when they reach Harry's flat, he makes sure to slam the door shut behind him.    


	6. The Revival

The cold kitchen tiles feel like slippery ice under Harry's bare feet. He paces back and forth aimlessly, his head hung low. He stares into nothingness and lets his thoughts consume every fiber of his being. The world crumbles around him, figuratively, as if a bomb went off and demolished everything in its path. Nothing is okay.

That memory keeps playing in his mind— Louis choking Mitch to death, draining his blood, killing him mercilessly. And the taste of his metallic blood still lingers on Harry's tongue. No amount of mint mouthwash could rinse it away.

He sighs at length and rubs his temples with frustration. What has he become? A monster? A cruel, man-slaughtering creature of the night?

Harry's always been nice, for lack of a better word. He tries to make everybody happy, please others, form new friendships. But this is— this is something completely different. Or rather,  _someone_ completely different. He doesn't even recognize himself anymore.

Feeling dirty and disgusting, Harry decides to take a bubble bath. Baths can solve everything, right? A bit of hot water, relaxation, and fragrant soap.

He treks into his nearby bathroom. Everything looks untouched, the same as when he left a few days prior. A bottle of uncapped toothpaste rests on the blue countertop. The faucet drips slowly, leaking, droplets of water thudding against the sink. 

He peels back the shower curtain and twists the knob, turning it towards the red 'H.' Then he plugs the drain to let the tub fill. When he touches the stream of water, it's scalding, but he doesn't pull back. It's nice to feel something so hot, being a cold, bloodless vampire and all.

A vampire. The word enters his brain and spins around. It has such a negative connotation, and he can't believe that he's become a blood-sucking monster who kills humans to survive. Briefly, he swipes his tongue over the roof of his mouth, feeling his sharp fangs.

Whilst he waits, he turns towards his sink and snatches his toothbrush, wetting it under the faucet. He smears some green toothpaste on the bristles. Then he scrubs his teeth, paying extra attention to his bloody canines. He brushes his tongue and the insides of his cheeks, trying to rid them of Mitch's taste.

The toothpaste's minty flavor once overwhelmed him, but now it's— now it's duller, less intense. Louis was right. His tastebuds are fading, and soon he won't want anything but blood. The thought sickens him.

He spits into the sink. A bit of blood stains the froth pink as it slips down the drain. Harry grimaces before rinsing it away.

When he looks up at the mirror, he frowns. Right, he thinks. No reflection. It still startles him, though, seeing the bathroom transparently through his body. He reaches up to touch it, just gliding his fingers over the cold glass.

Sighing, Harry turns back towards the tub. He grabs a bottle of lavender soap and empties its contents into the tub. He mixes it with his hand, watching with contentment as a layer of bubbles forms over the water's surface. Steam curls around him, hugging him with warmth. The floral fragrance tingles in his nose.

He switches off the water before shedding his clothes. He shimmies out of Louis's joggers and skin-tight t-shirt, kicking them carelessly aside. Now completely naked, he climbs into the tub, bubbles surrounding his soft, pale skin. He hums with relaxation and lets his eyes flutter shut.

He ducks under the water to wet his hair, turning his curls into a curtain of dark brown hair. He scrapes it out of his face so he can grab his coconut shampoo. He squirts a bit onto his palm and massages it into his scalp. After washing his hair, he cleans off his black face paint, scrubbing under his eyes.

He accidentally dozes off, and when he awakes twenty minutes later, he's pruned all over.

Then he stumbles into his bedroom and falls asleep, comforted by the darkness and familiarity of the night.

-

Music thuds through the club, pulsing like blood in veins. Harry sits in the Fool's Gold's dressing room, lost in a daze. A fog of smoke fills the room, the lingering scent of sweat stinging in Harry's nose. Around him, dancers apply their makeup and strip down to their thongs. Harry just sits on the couch, staring at his hands, twirling a ring around his finger to distract himself.

A hand clamps on his shoulder. Startled, Harry looks up to see Jaguar. He has the softest smile on his face. His red-tinted hair is gelled up in sharp spikes.

"Hey, Rose! Where've you been?" he asks, sitting down next to him. "Liam was worried sick 'bout you. Zayn, too. Said you wouldn't answer your phone."

Harry gulps. "I, uh— I've been busy, 's all."

His eyes widen at Harry's teeth. "Sick, mate! Did you get your canines filed?"

Harry frowns. Shit. He forgot about that.

"Yeah," he says, but it comes out like a question.

He didn't know sharpening teeth was a real thing. Did people actually pay to get that done? Well, at least he has a cover up now.

"You should probably go talk to Liam," Jag suggests. "Just let him know that you're okay. 's not like you to skip work."

Harry frowns. He feels guilty. He's a people-pleaser, and he can't stand the thought of letting his boss down. He hopes Liam isn't  _too_ pissed off because, frankly, he needs this job.

"Alright, yeah. You're probably right," Harry huffs, standing up. His joints pop. "Do ya' know where he is?"

Jag thumbs towards the red curtains. "Main stage."

"Thanks. I'll be right back, then."

Harry tugs on a silk robe before he leaves. It's black and sleek, falling just above his knees. He ties a pretty bow in the front.

He pushes past the dusty curtains, revealing the all-too-familiar sight of Fool's Gold. It's currently empty, since the club doesn't open until nighttime. Liam is sat on the main stage with their technician, Ben. His boss points at his laptop screen and murmurs something to Ben, to which he replies with a light chuckle.

Harry clears his throat. Liam glances up with brown eyes that instantly turn soft. His plush lips fall into a frown. He looks like a CEO straight out of some cheesy porno, complete with a suit and tie and a beard trimmed to perfection. Not to mention a chiseled jawline that could probably cut through glass.

He expects Liam to throw a fit, yell at him for not answering his phone, fire him on the spot. But to his surprise, he doesn't. He just stares.

"Rose," he breathes. He hops off the stage and wraps Harry in a tight hug. It catches him off guard for a second, but then he curls his arms around Liam's waist, sighing happily. "I— I'm so glad you're okay."

Relief washes over him. When he pulls away, he swears he can see a tear or two glistening in Liam's eyes.

"I'm sorry for worrying you. I should've rang. I just—"

Liam holds up his hand. "No need to apologize, Rose. I'm just happy you're not hurt."

"Yes, but I— I owe you an explanation."

"No, you don't. As long as you're safe, you don't owe me anythin'."

"But I ditched work, sir."

Liam scoffs. "You've worked here for more than two years. You've never missed a single shift until now. How could I be angry? You're my best employee."

Harry blushes with pride. "Thank you, sir."

"We all have our bad days, yeah?" Liam sympathizes.

Harry nods. Being bitten by a vampire, transitioning, and killing a man? Yeah, he counts those as some bad days, to say the least.

"Just go get ready backstage," Liam assures, giving him a pat on the back. "You're on in ten minutes."

Harry smiles timidly. "Thanks, sir."

Liam scoffs. "Enough with the  _sir_  talk, Rose. Get to work."

Muttering an apology under his breath, Harry scurries back towards the curtain. He slips inside with the other dancers. He purposely avoids the mirrored vanities, just in case someone catches a glimpse of his reflection— or lack thereof.

One of the dancers, Star, sits on a stool and smears oil on his toned chest. Harry looks down at his own skin, eyeing the glitter that shimmers like stars. When he first started working here, Liam worried that Harry's tattoos would turn customers off, that he didn't fit the stripper stereotype. But as it turns out, people absolutely love it, especially when he rolls his stomach against the pole to make his butterfly wings flutter. Not to mention the laurels that curve towards his crotch.

"Yo, Styles," a dancer, Emerald, calls from the other side of the room.

He's sat on the sofa with Jag and Saturn. The latter gained his nickname after Liam made a joke about his ring-clad fingers, how he resembled the ringed planet. And it sort of just  _stuck_ , although he insists upon being called Seth instead because, well, that's his real name.

The coffee table in front of them is littered with makeup pallets and glitter. Emerald glides his razor blade across the table's glass, shifting some white powder into a straight line. The scratching of the metal sends a shiver down Harry's spine.

"Want a sniff?" Emerald offers, waving his rolled-up dollar bill.

Harry gulps. "I—"

"Don't bother, mate," Seth interrupts, smirking. "Rose is a good boy now. Isn't that right? You tryin' to clean up your act?"

There's a certain smugness in his voice that rattles Harry's nerves. He furrows his brow.

"What d'ya mean?" he asks firmly.

"I hear you've been skippin' work. Lookin' for a new job or summat? Think you're too good for us?" Seth continues, his tone sharp and bitter.

  "I heard he got himself a sugar daddy," Emerald chimes in.

Harry falters. "Where the hell did you hear that?"

"Angel," he snorts, as if it was obvious.

Of course it was Zayn. They were the closest pair of the lot. He was probably worried sick about Harry over the past few days. And it doesn't help that Harry never bothered to answer his calls or texts. But then again, it's not his fault that Louis's cottage has shitty cellphone service.

He knows Zayn's shift won't start 'till ten o'clock, but when he arrives, Harry won't hear the last of it. He'll probably throw a proper fit. And it's not that Zayn's possessive or clingy, but he genuinely cares about Harry's well being.

Harry huffs. "Well, it's not true."

"Yeah?" Emerald cuts in, a smile tugging on his thin lips. "Prove it, mate."

Harry swallows the lump in his throat. He usually refrains from using drugs as much as possible. He'll smoke a little every now and then, just to take the edge off, but this is— this is different. This is serious. This is fucking cocaine, and Harry's head is spinning.

But alas, he caves in. His life has become an absolute mess, so what harm will one more mistake bring? He killed a man, after all. Coke is nothing compared to murder.

"Fine."

Harry kneels next to the glass table. He sighs before grabbing the rolled-up bill. He lines it up with the powder, presses it to one nostril, and holds his finger against the other. He inhales sharply as he drags it across the glass, sniffling. He wrinkles his nose because, well, it feels quite odd.

Seth punches his shoulder playfully. Harry just rubs his nose, flaking off the excess cocaine. His face scrunches with discomfort.

The curtain pulls apart, and Liam pokes his head through, a grin wide on his face.

"Alright, boys! Showtime!"

Harry feels dizzy as he stands up, walking towards a sea of gold and bright lights.

-

The greasy pole glides between Harry's sweaty, oily palms as he sinks down to the floor. He throws his head back, exposing the thick veins that bulge in his neck. He wiggles his hips as a fat, meaty hand smacks his arse. He feels disgusting and light-headed at the same time. His pupils are dilated so wide that only a sliver of green remains.

He can't stop twitching and scrunching his nose, but he hopes the crowd (and Liam) won't notice. Liam knows they smoke weed from time-to-time, but if he found out the dancers snorted cocaine as well, he'd fire them on the spot. 

 Harry feels the classic effects of the drug burning inside of him— paranoia, restlessness, rapid heart rate. Maybe he shouldn't have done this, after all.

Louis would be disappointed in him.

But for once, he isn't worrying about his vampire cravings. He isn't worrying about committing murder, or drinking blood, or sharp toothaches, or Louis fucking Tomlinson. He's just numb, mindless, moving subconsciously to the beat of the music. He rolls his stomach against the pole and inhales deeply, trying to catch his breath.

A barrel-bellied man in the front row slips a few notes into his thong's waistband. Harry forces out a smirk as he turns towards him, sliding down the pole again. His thighs burn. The man watches him with hungry, predatory eyes, rubbing his bearded chin.

Suddenly, Harry feels dizzy and nauseous, as if he's on a boat, rocking over tall waves. He scans the crowd and sees nothing but gold. The glitter burns behind his eyelids. When he blinks, his vision looks distorted and overlapped like a kaleidoscope.

Stumbling over his feet, Harry trips down the steps that lead off the stage. He doesn't even wait for the song to end. He just— he  _can't_ do this anymore.

He receives a few confused looks from the audience, as well as some whistles, but he ignores them. He pinches the bridge of his nose as he makes his way backstage. He needs to relax. He needs sleep. He needs— fuck.

He needs blood.

Before he can push back the dressing room's curtain, a warm hand clamps over his shoulder. Liam's fingers dig into his skin and spin him around.

"What the fuck is wrong with you, Rose?" he demands. He looks angry and a bit concerned, too. He's always been very protective of Harry in particular.

His voice sounds echoed in Harry's head. He blinks a few times to clear his eyesight.

"I, um. I dunno," he admits. "Just— feelin' kinda lightheaded."

Liam huffs. "Are you sick? Need to go home?"

Harry can see the disappointment in his boss's eyes. He frowns.

"No," he insists. "No, sir. 'm fine."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, Liam. 'm positive. Just had a dizzy spell, I guess." His wobbly legs say otherwise, but he hopes Liam won't notice.

"Well, if you insist," Liam grumbles. "Just be careful, alright? Can't have you fainting in front of customers. Not good for business, yeah?"

"Yeah," Harry echos, "sorry."

" 's fine. Just get back to work. You've got hours to make up," Liam rambles, tapping his watch impatiently.

Harry blinks. "Should I go offer lap dances? Or I can work the bar shift, if you'd like."

Liam shakes his head. "A gentleman wants a private dance with you in the velvet room. Paid twice as much as he should've. Said it was urgent."

Harry gulps. He's seldom requested in the velvet room. It's a private area reserved for the wealthiest of the wealthy. And that makes him nervous, because sometimes customers get the wrong idea— that they're  _entitled_ to the dancers' bodies since they paid so much.

"Okay."

"Thanks, Rose. I'll be near Star's stage if you need me," Liam murmurs.

With that, Harry nods and turns towards the velvet room. The door is tall and wide, embellished with various patterns and floral designs. The handle feels ice-cold. Then again, that may be his own lifeless flesh.

He takes a deep breath. The club's lights flicker and burn his eyes. In a way, the velvet room is also a relief. It's an escape from the rowdiness of Fool's Gold. It's the only place to find some peace and quiet.

He opens the door and instantly feels a rush of chilly air. His skin tingles. Red curtains line the windows, giving the room a reddish hue. The plush, cream-colored carpet squishes between Harry's toes. A neatly-made bed rests in the back with a velvet-covered headboard. The chandelier glistens overhead, sparkly and crystallized. The air smells like vanilla candles. A sofa slots against the wall, maroon in color, decorated like paisley.

As Harry shuts the door, the shouting and loud music and wolf-whistles stop abruptly. The silence drives him crazy. He looks around with curiosity. Then, he spots a chair in the corner, overshadowed with darkness. He sees a figure sitting there, its facial features darkened and obscure.

"Um, hello?" he calls into the emptiness.

The head lifts up. Silver eyes shine in the dark.

" 'ello, Rose."

Harry's stomach sinks. "I told you to leave me alone," he chokes out, taking a step back.

Louis chuckles as he stands up. Something about him looks different— darker, more intense. He wears some black skinnies and an Adidas shirt that looks one size too large. He cranes his neck a bit as he strides towards Harry, a smirk tugging on his lips. His cold hand presses against Harry's hip. His nails scratch at his lovehandles, greedy and eager.

" 'm not here to help you," Louis explains, pushing Harry into the sofa.

He makes a noise that sounds like 'umph' as he plops down. Before he can blink, Louis's nimble fingers glide along his jawline. Harry feels dizzy again, but this time it's not from the cocaine. He's lost in lust and desire.

He pinches Harry's chin and lifts up, forcing their eyes to connect.

" 'm here to get what I paid for," he says roughly.

Harry swallows the lump in his throat. He stays motionless as Louis straddles his waist. His thick thighs keep him in place.

He connects his pale lips to Harry's neck, leaving kisses down to his shoulder. Harry can feel the prick of Louis's fangs gliding over his skin, sharp and intimidating, knowing that they have the power to puncture his flesh. He throws his head back and lets his eyes flutter shut.  He lets Louis ravish him, because frankly, he doesn't care anymore.

After a minute or so, Louis feels a drop of water splash on his hand. He glances up, expecting to see a leak in the roof. Instead, he sees tears glistening over Harry's cheeks. Louis's eyes widen in shock.

"What the— Harry, why are you crying?"

Harry sniffles. "I'm sorry," he whispers, croaking. "I thought I could do this on my own, but I— I  _can't_. I just— I'm  _so_ fucking scared."

If Louis had a bloodflow, his heart would've swelled. "It's alright, love. I'm here now, okay? You're fine."

"It's not fine," Harry sniffles. "You've helped me so much, and I was a complete arsehole. I guess I just— I hate receiving help from others. I like being independent. I like being on my own, 'cause I've been alone and abandoned for years, but this isn't—"

"This isn't something you can handle on your own," Louis finishes. "I know, love. I understand."

Harry wipes away his tears with the back of his hand. "I'm sorry," he repeats.

"Don't be."

"But do you need anything? I mean, you paid for the velvet room," Harry says, blushing. His eyes flicker between them, where Louis's bulge strains against his trousers.

Louis smiles as he brushes the hair out of Harry's eyes. "No," he promises, nuzzling his face into the crook of his neck. "I just need this."


	7. The Tension

The clock ticks inside of Harry's brain. Their time diminishes with every second, slipping away like sand through an hourglass. So Harry holds onto Louis's shoulders and buries his face into his neck, peppering his skin with light kisses. Louis continues to stroke his hair and give him gentle reassurances, whispering sweet things into his ear.

"Harry," Louis begins, voice quiet, "my time's almost up."

He briefly glances at the clock. He only paid for one full hour in the velvet room, and alas, fifty-six minutes have passed.

"No," Harry whines, shaking his head. His curls rustle under Louis's chin. "Stay."

Louis sighs. "Harry—"

"I don't care if Liam gets mad," he persists, pulling back to make eye contact again.

" 'm not gonna be responsible for you losing your job," Louis insists whilst shaking his head with disapproval.

Harry pouts. He knows Louis is right, but he just  _can't_. He can't go out there and face the crowd again.  When he's on stage, it's all a lie. An escape from the bitter, terrifying reality. And when he comes back down from the pole, he only feels worse, because those few minutes of ecstasy were only short-lived.

"Fine, but I want you to come watch me," Harry grumbles, poking Louis's chest.

"I would never say 'no' to that," Louis teases, smirk tugging on his lips.

And, God, he looks marvelous. Harry wants to devour him. Wants to feel his hands all over his skin, his cold breath sending shivers down his spine. Wants to kiss him until his lips turn red and swollen.

But unfortunately, they only have two minutes left. What a shame.

"So, do you want to come back to my cottage tonight?" Louis offers, brow raised.

Harry gulps. To be honest, he doesn't know what he wants. Louis can practically read his thoughts. He looks at him for a second, examines his green eyes, and then smiles sympathetically.

"It's alright if you don't want to," Louis insists. "I understand that you might be, like, homesick."

Harry snorts at the accusation. Okay, maybe he's not so much of a mind-reader after all.

"I hate my flat. I'm not homesick."

Louis blinks in surprise. "Okay, then what's the problem?"

Harry bites his lip. "I don't know. It's just— it's weird, you know?"

"What's weird?"

Harry ponders that for a moment. He can feel the weight of Louis straddling his hips, accompanied by the weight of the world crushing his chest.

"Being... with someone, I suppose," he chokes, letting a few seconds of silence pass between them. "I've been alone for so long, I've almost forgotten what it's like to have someone look after me."

Louis bites his lip thoughtfully, his fangs digging into the chapped, pink flesh. He can hear the pain in Harry's voice. This boy is damaged. Maybe not broken, but definitely hurt. Louis wants nothing more than to pick up all his shattered pieces and glue them back together.

"Why haven't you tried contacting your family?" Louis inquires, eyes squinted.

Harry pauses. "I dropped out of university. They don't want me."

"How do you know that?"

"Because they haven't come searching for me yet," Harry says dryly, eyes drifting away. His throat bobs up and down. "They would be so disappointed in me."

Louis shakes his head in protest. "No, Harry, that's not true—"

Harry scoffs. "I'm a bloody stripper, Louis," he spits. "No pun intended."

Louis falters for a moment. His hands fall to Harry's sides, feeling the soft, velvety skin of his hips. He thumbs over the tips of his laurel tattoos.

"Alright. I sincerely apologize."

Harry secretly loves this— loves how Louis's voice gets lost in the past sometimes, phrasing words in such a way that screams the days of yore. Sometimes he can't believe that this man is over two hundred years old. He's immature, childish, likes to joke and tease. But then, at times like this, his old, worn-out heart makes itself known. Harry can't get enough of it.

"No, it's okay," Harry assures, touching his wrist gently. "I just don't like talking about my family, 's all."

Louis nods slowly. "I guess that's one thing we have in common," he hums pensively. "At least your parents didn't try to burn you alive and accuse you of witchcraft, yeah?"

Harry frowns. He knows Louis wants him to crack a smile, make a joke, or laugh, but he can't. He doesn't want to. He can hear the underlying pain beneath that statement, even though he tries his best to cover it up with humor. He thinks about the pain that Louis must've endured back then, how scared he must've felt. And it's times like this that Harry is grateful for Louis's guidance. At least he doesn't have to go through this alone.

"Rose!" a distant voice calls out, followed by a fist banging on the door. It's Zayn.

Harry's head perks up. "Yeah?"

The heavy door swings open. Zayn stands there in the threshold, hand on his hip. He's clad in his golden thong, complete with glitter on his toned, tattooed torso. He narrows his eyes at Harry, practically glaring at the way Louis's thighs are planted on either side of his hips. He notices the flush of Harry's cheeks and the redness of his lips.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Zayn scoffs, eyes widening. He stomps inside the velvet room with anger, veins bulging in his temples. "Is  _this_ the guy you've been fucking around with?"

Harry tenses. With confusion, Louis climbs off Harry's lap clumsily. Zayn looks like he's a few seconds away from punching Louis square in the nose. Harry instantly rushes towards him, presses his hand against his chest, where his set of angel wing tattoos stain his olive-toned skin.

"Zayn, calm down, okay? He's a friend."

"Yeah, a friend who's been taking advantage of you," Zayn spits, glaring at Louis.

"He's not— God, Zayn. It's not like that at  _all_."

Zayn scoffs. "It's not like you to skip work, Harry. You didn't answer my calls, either. Had me worried sick! Thought you got yourself killed." His eyes shoot towards Louis, glaring sharply, as if his stare could cut his flesh. "Is he forcing you to sell your arse for money or summat?"

Harry's eyes widen. "What?! No! Zayn, it's just... complicated."

Louis blinks at loss of words. "I don't understand. Did I do somethin' wrong?"

Harry shakes his head. "No, Louis. Zayn's just overprotective."

Zayn snorts at the accusation. " 'm not overprotective, Harry. I've seen this behavior before. I've seen dancers get snatched up by some gross bloke, forced to work on the streets. They lose all contact with everyone else. They disappear off the face of the fucking earth, like that." He snaps his fingers for emphasis.

Harry frowns. "Zayn, relax. Louis is just a friend. I promise."

Zayn cocks an eyebrow. "So if you two are 'just friends,' how come you're in the velvet room togetha'?"

"Because we needed to talk in private, for fuck's sake."

Zayn slumps his shoulders. A moment of silence ticks between them. His chestnut eyes glance back and forth between Harry and Louis with apprehension. Harry appreciates his protectiveness, and it's flattering, but it's unneeded. He feels safe when he's with Louis— something he hasn't felt in a long, long time.

"You're telling the truth?" Zayn presses, poking Harry's chest with his index finger.

Harry rolls his eyes. "Yes, I swear. I'm  _fine_. Louis is my mate, 's all."

"Fine," Zayn sighs, taking a step back. "I'm sorry for snapping." He nods at Louis, clarifying that the apology is for him, too.

Louis clears his throat. "It's— it's fine. I'm glad Harry has a friend who cares about him so much."

"Well, us strippers have to look out for one another," Zayn teases, throwing an arm around Harry's shoulder.

Louis chuckles at that. "I see."

"Anyway," Zayn says, nudging Harry towards the door, "you're wanted on stage two, Rose."

He pats his bum, and for a second, Louis feels a bit of jealousy flare in his belly. But then he remembers that Harry  _is_ an exotic dancer, after all. Unfamiliar hands are always groping him, squeezing him, touching him when he doesn't want to be touched. It makes him feel sick to his stomach.

"Thanks, bro," Harry grins, pinching his arse cheek.

As they walk out together, Louis watches desperately from afar. He stands awkwardly with his hands at his sides, unsure if he should follow. But then Harry throws a cheeky grin over his shoulder, brow raised.

"You coming, Lou? I want you to enjoy the show." He even has the audacity to wink.

Louis swallows the lump in his throat. He has a feeling this is going to be a long, torturous night.

- 

Harry's hips shift as he sticks out his pert arse, wiggling it. Louis sits at the edge of the stage, watching with wild, hungry eyes. The spotlight glimmers against Harry's pale skin as he sinks down to the stage's floor, flexing his thigh muscles. Louis licks his lips. He wants to take a bite, but not in a vampirical way. In a sexual way.

Louis can see the crease in his golden thong where his cheeks separate. He jiggles his bum and grasps the pole, wrapping one smoothly-shaven leg around it. He twirls around like a fucking ballerina, graceful yet sinful at the same damn time. Louis can't take his eyes off of him. As he grins, his sharp canines twinkle in the light.

Harry grinds his hips against the greasy pole. He rolls his shoulders and dips his back, hair falling down like a chocolate curtain. Louis imagines a bucket of water tipping over him, drenching him completely, and—  _God_ , he's lost in lust. His hands start twitching, desperate to reach out and touch.

Next to him, a tall, lanky man smacks Harry's arse. He smirks and sends him an air kiss, puckering his bubblegum lips. Louis's icy eyes stare at the man with bitterness. Then, the stranger's grubby hands slip a few dollar bills into his waistband. Harry follows his routine, mainting the desperate stipper persona, and steps towards him. He wiggles his bum in front of him, his thighs shaking.

Louis screams inside of his head. He doesn't know why he's jealous because Harry doesn't belong to him. They're not a  _thing_. They aren't even friends; they're just partners in crime. Or rather, vampires in crime.

A random ZHU song plays in the club's speakers, pulsing through the floorboards, vibrating in Lou's stomach. Flashing lights flicker across Fool's Gold, but the main spotlight focuses on Harry's dance, surrounding him with yellow warmth. All eyes stare at him, gawking. He's too beautiful to be real. Too perfect.

Louis smiles smugly as he grabs a few notes from his pocket. He beckons Harry to come closer by waving the money in the air.

Harry catches his glance and makes his way towards Louis, spinning around to the other side of the circular stage. He bends over and sways his plump arse back and forth. Louis gulps, frozen. The gold spandex material clings to him like it's  _painted_ on his skin. He tucks the money into his thong.

Harry turns back around, biting his lip with false innocence. His curls frame his face with perfect ringlets. Dimples press into his porcelain cheeks. He's a beautiful contradiction of sexiness and purity.

"Thanks," Harry purrs, slapping his arse right in front of Louis's face.

Louis bites back a witty reply. He decides to relax and enjoy the show.

-

The car ride back to Louis's cottage is tense. Not awkward, but filled with restlessness. Harry had changed out of his stage clothes, settling for some tight-fitting jeans and a sheer blouse instead. He left the buttons undone halfway.

Louis grips the steering wheel as they zoom down a busy street. He has a lit cigarette in his free hand with the window rolled down, smoke whipping through the wind behind them. When he glances at the electronic clock on his Porsche's stereo, it's nearly three o'clock in the morning. White moonlight glows against Harry's face as he stares out the window, watching trees pass by in a blur of green. He pinned his hair up in a bun which, Louis thinks, is the hottest thing  _ever_. He can see every nook and cranny of his face now, every flawless freckle and crease.

"So," Louis breathes, trying to fill the silence between them.

Harry glances over with smirk. "So," he echoes. "What'd you think of the show?"

Louis's breath shudders. Feeling brave, he decides to say, "Well, you managed to give me a boner, so it was great."

Harry nearly chokes on his own saliva. He looks over, wide-eyed, like a deer caught in headlights. "Seriously?" he rasps.

Louis chuckles as they turn down the remote dirt road that leads to his secluded cabin. He nods with confirmation, absolutely shameless. The engine's rumble fills the tranquility between them.

"I— I'm surprised," Harry admits, the faintest bit of pink rushing to his cheeks. Although vampires don't create their own blood, they use whatever they consume to perform basic human reactions, to make them seem more lifelike. Blushing is just one of these occurrences.

Louis scoffs as he brings the cigarette to his lips, inhaling. "Of course. You could make any man stiff in his pants."

Harry looks away shyly. "You're so full of shit."

Louis exhales, grey smoke clouding the air around his pink lips. "You think I'm joking?"

"Well, yes."

"I'm serious, Harry. You're remarkable. I've never seen anyone like you."

Harry snorts. "You've been alive for, what? Two hundred years? I don't believe that, mate. I'm not  _that_ special."

Louis tsks as he switches on his turning signal. He pulls into the cottage's driveway, which snakes through the dense trees. Gravel crushes noisily beneath the Porsche's tires. The headlights illuminate the muddy path in front of them. Overhanging branches whip past the car's sides, and Louis makes a mental note to trim them later.

"You're quite special," Louis assures as he parks the car and shuts it off, twisting the key. He takes another drag from his cigarette as they climb out. Then he drops it to the ground, smolders it with the toe of his shoe.

They walk towards the log cabin in complete silence. Harry has a duffle bag strapped over his shoulder, which contains his stage clothes and basic toiletries. As they approach the front door, Louis pauses at his garden, which lies right next to the porch. Various flowers of all shapes, sizes, and colors sway in the faint breeze.

Louis kneels down and snaps a thorny stem. He stands up, knees popping. It's a red rose, beautiful and fragrant, layered with ruby petals. Butterflies swarm in Harry's tummy as Louis hands it over, grinning.

"A rose for my Rose," Louis clarifies.

Harry giggles as he twirls the pretty flower. "Thanks."

They walk inside, and Harry quickly fills a vase to preserve the rose. He wishes it could live as long as he, for an endless infinity.  

 

 

 

 


	8. The Truth

Harry's fingers ghost over Louis's dusty bookshelf, examining the various knick knacks and memorabilia that fill its wooden frame. He finds rusty antiques and random trinkets that all tell stories of the past, revealing bits and pieces of Louis's previous lives. Harry notices a framed photograph, its glass smudged with dirt and fingerprints. It shows a tall, blonde woman holding the handle of a pitchfork. Her hair is tied back in pigtails.

"Who's this?" Harry ponders out loud, picking up the picture frame.

Louis glances up from his book, glasses teetering at the tip of his nose. The nearby lamp makes his skin appear slightly yellow-tinted. Shadows carve out the hollows of his cheeks.

"My ex-wife, Caroline. She was a human," he answers dryly.

Harry nearly chokes on his own saliva. He blinks a few times with confusion. Did he hear him properly? Did he say ex- _wife_? Because last time he checked, Louis sprouted a boner because of Harry's arse, not a woman's anatomy.

"You seem surprised," Louis notes calmly.

Harry coughs awkwardly. "No, I just— I, uh. I thought you were gay," he admits.

Louis frowns. "I am, Harry."

Harry is still confused. He parts his lips to speak, but no words come out— just breathes out a puff of cold air. He doesn't know what to say or ask.

"Let me clarify," Louis grunts, setting his book aside on the coffee table. "Caroline and I got married in the 1940's. I don't remember the exact date, to be honest. We were together for ten or so years before I had to relocate again."

"Oh," Harry huffs, taking a seat at the couch. He still looks tense, though, with his shoulders tight and raised slightly. "Are you, like, bisexual?"

Louis chuckles. "No, Harry. I'm definitely gay."

"Then why did you marry a woman?"

Louis stares at him coldly. His irises are laced with silver, making them resemble sparkly ice. He leans back in his rocking chair as his hands grip the wooden armrests.

"Do you know  _anything_ about LGBT history, Harold?"

"That's not my name."

"And  _that_ doesn't answer my question."

Harry flushes. "Right, sorry. Erm, I suppose I don't know a lot."

Louis nods slowly. His gaze locks on Harry for a few seconds. He rubs his chin thoughtfully, grazing his palm over the wiry stubble that speckles his jawline.

"I've been gay for my entire life, Harry, but I didn't come out of the closet until the 1960's. Or rather, I  _couldn't_."

Harry's eyebrows crease together. "Why not?"

"It wasn't safe. It was just a— a different time period, I suppose. A different set of beliefs. Back then, being an open homosexual was a death sentence," Louis rambled, picking at a hangnail on his pinky. "So, I married women instead. It was a way to blend in with society, you see. A way to seem... normal."

Harry nods, trying to understand. "Did you love them?"

Louis pauses contemplatively. "Of course I did. I loved them all dearly— just not in a romantic way."

"Them all," Harry repeats, gulping. "There were multiple?"

"I've been married nine or ten times, Harry," Louis confesses.

Harry feels light-headed. It never occurred to him that Louis must've had countless relationships in his 226 years of living. He suddenly feels foolish. Maybe Harry is just another notch in his belt, or maybe he's not a notch at all. Maybe he's just a quick fling, someone who Louis will forget in a few years.

"Did you ever... have any kids?" Harry chokes out.

A smile tugs on Louis's lips. He loves seeing Harry like this, all blushed and embarrassed. He's used to seeing him so confident and smug on stage, dancing around a pole like he's the king of the world, but then he breaks down his barriers and it's— it's lovely.

"No. A vampire can't mate with a human. It's impossible," Louis explains.

"Have you ever been with a girl vampire, then?"

"No," Louis admits with a shrug. "That just... complicates things. Humans are much easier. They die off after a while, anyway."

Harry bites his lip to suppress a frown. He doesn't like to think of people like that— disposable beings.  It makes him feel disgusting.

"Sorry," Louis chuckles, "that sounded harsh."

"Yeah, it did."

"I apologize. I just want to be straight-forward with you, y'know? No bullshit. No need to sugar-coat it."

Harry nods as he fumbles with a ring on his index finger. A moment of silence passes between them.

Eventually, Harry breathes out, "I'm sorry."

Louis quirks an eyebrow. "For what?"

"That you had to stay in the closet for so long," Harry replies. "That you had to pretend to be someone you're not. I guess I take my freedom for granted sometimes."

Louis smiled softly. It calmed all of Harry's worries.

"No need to apologize, Styles. 's not your fault."

Harry just shrugs. He glances at the end table and sees the vase, foggy with condensation. The red rose leans up against the glass. It's beautiful, despite its wrinkled petals and sharp thorns.

"Can I ask you something?" Harry hummed, twirling the flower around in the vase.

"Of course."

"Where are you from originally?" he asked, eyes narrowed.

Louis thinks that over for a second. "Poitiers, France. It's a city south of Paris."

Something inside of Harry's stomach flutters. He's always had a  _thing_ for Frenchmen.

"How come you have a Yorkshire accent, then?"

He snickers. "My accent always changes, depending on where I live."

"Well, you should keep this one," Harry suggests. "It's quite sexy."

Louis smirks. "Oh?"

"Yeah. It suits you."

"Maybe I'll stick with it, then," Louis murmurs, propping his legs up on the coffee table. His tiny feet are covered with fluffy socks.

Harry smiles weakly as he leans back in the sofa, exhaling deeply. His muscles ache from dancing all night. He can still feel the body glitter and oil staining his pale skin. A long moment of quietness passes between them. Louis just leans back in his rocking chair and looks around aimlessly, listening to the distant ticking of his grandfather clock.

"I want to show you something," Louis says gently, standing up. His old joints pop audibly as he stretches.

Harry hesitates. "What?"

Louis rolls his eyes. "Don't ask questions. Just follow me."

And, of course, Harry can't possibly say no. He's a people-pleaser. He trails behind Louis like a lost puppy as they exit his cabin, creeping through the darkness of nighttime. Trees surround them in a canopy of skeletal, leafless branches that brush past their shoulders with each step. Louis leads them through the woods on a narrow, muddy pathway.

"No offense, but this is how most horror films start," Harry comments, squinting through the blackness. The moonlight provides a faint glow of white.

Louis snorts. "I'm not going to kill you, Harry."

"Right, 'cause you already have."

Louis shoots him a glare, and Harry just giggles into his sleeve. He likes that they can look back and laugh about it now, that it's no longer tense between them.  He follows Louis through the dense forest, listening to the crunch of falling leaves and twigs snapping. The air smells like rain.

"Where are we going?" Harry groans impatiently.

"Somewhere where we can't be seen."

Harry pauses before clearing his throat. "Yeah, this is definitely getting creepier by the second."

Louis hushes him. "I just want to show you something. Relax."

Harry lets his arms fall to his sides, huffing. "Can you at least tell me what it is?"

Louis stops in his tracks. His blue eyes glow faintly in the dark, shimmering. His skin looks paler than normal.

"I want to show you that being a vampire isn't always a bad thing," Louis explains, grinning with sharp, white fangs. "Sometimes it's quite fun."

Harry blinks in silence. Distantly, animals rustle in the brush. The wind whistles against his ears.

"Fun?" he echoes.

Louis nods in confirmation. "Not all vampire tales are myths, you know."

Harry scoffs. "Yeah, I know. I learned about garlic the hard way."

Louis snickers. "Well, besides garlic, do you know any other vampire legends that are true?"

Harry shakes his head. Of course he doesn't know. He's been a vampire for less than a week, whilst Louis has acquired centuries of knowledge.

"Well, for one," Louis sighs, leaning up against the nearest tree, "we're incredibly strong."

With that, he pushes his palm against the pine's trunk. Without applying much pressure, it cracks and splits, causing Harry to jump out of surprise. His eyes widen in shock. The tall pine tree topples over in the opposite direction, bouncing slightly as it hits the grassy earth. Louis stands there smugly, arms crossed over his chest.

"Neat, innit?"

Harry gulps, staring at the freshly-fallen tree. Bits of broken bark scatter across the ground. A short stump remains, barely 

"I— holy shit," Harry gasped, covering his mouth with his hands. "You just..."

He can't even phrase proper sentences. Louis cooes at his innocence.

"Why don't you try?" Louis suggests, pointing to an oak tree.

Harry frowns. "I— I can't. I'm not that strong, Lou."

"Yes, you  _are_ ," Louis persists. "Just give it a go."

Harry shakes his head. "No, Louis. I'm can't."

"Why not? It's fun!"

"Because I'm not going to waste a tree like that," Harry protested, crossing his arms over his chest. "It's a living thing, Louis. I'm not going to kill it for no reason."

Louis rolls his eyes. Is Harry even real? He has so many complexities. He's an environmentally-friendly stripper who also happens to be a vampire. Louis's head is spinning in circles at this point.

"For fuck's sake, Harry," Louis groans. "I'll cut it up for firewood, then."

"But you don't need a fireplace. You're cold-blooded."

Louis threw his hands in the air, exasperated. "Then I'll fucking build something out of it! Just push the damn tree, Harry!"

Harry steps back, startled. His green eyes flicker to the oak tree for a moment, looking it up and down.  He takes in a sharp breath.

"Fine," he sighs.

He presses his palm flat against the trunk. He lets his eyes flutter shut, focusing all of his energy on this single task. He prays to every divine being that this will work. He'd probably die from embarrassment if he wasn't strong enough— that is, if he wasn't immortal.

Before he can even flex a single muscle, the trunk cracks. Harry's eyes snap open in surprise. As he steps back, the tree breaks and falls over. It's almost like slow-motion as it cascades to the forest's floor. It lands with a loud  _boom_ that leaves Harry speechless.

"Told you," Louis said, throwing an arm around Harry's shoulder.

Harry flushes. "I— I can't believe I did that."

"And that's just the beginning, mate. Wait 'till I show you how fast we can run."

"Run?" Harry repeats, eyebrow raised.

Instead of giving a verbal response, Louis clasps Harry's cold, blue-tinted hand. Harry ignores the butterflies in his tummy. This isn't the time for swooning.

He tugs Harry along as he starts running, letting his legs carry him faster than he can think. For a moment, Harry believes he'll fall behind and trip, but his body seems to go on an auto-pilot. And then they're sprinting. They're running faster than his eyes can process, just whipping through the trees as they pass by in a blur. His feet barely touch the ground. He feels like he's floating.

"Shit!" Harry swears, but his voice gets lost in the wind.

They reach the cabin in a matter of seconds. Louis squeezes Harry's hand and they stop instantly, digging their heels into the dirt to slow down. Harry breathes heavily, wheezing. He blinks rapidly as he tries to calm down, tries to figure out what just happened.

"You're alright," Louis assures, rubbing his back soothingly. "You'll get used to that."

Harry's legs are burning, but his mind is buzzing. "That was— that was kind of thrilling. I think I liked it."

Louis smirks as he let go of Harry's hand. Instead, he links his arm around his pudgy waist and guides him back into his cottage.

"Oh, darling. That's just the beginning," he hums. "I can't wait to show you the world." 

 


	9. The Bond

"Let's play a game."

Louis's head perks up at the sound of Harry's cheerful voice. He has too much energy for two o'clock in the morning, he thinks. Although vampires don't technically need sleep to survive, a proper rest sounds nice, in Louis's opinion. He wants to close his eyes and relax, try to unwind, try to make sense of everything.

He frowns. "A game?"

"Yeah, like a board game," Harry says enthusiastically, practically jumping in his seat. His green eyes light up and twinkle as he speaks. Pretty dimples indent his pale cheeks.

"A board game," Louis repeats slowly. "I'd rather just sleep, to be honest."

Harry looks disappointed. He reaches over and grabs Louis's forearm, tugging slightly. A pout forms on his strawberry lips, which seem to have gained color since sucking Mitch's blood. A lot of things have changed since then, actually.

"C'mon, Lou," Harry pleads, "just for an hour or so."

Louis tilts his head. "Harry—"

He's interrupted by Harry sitting on his lap, curling his arms around his neck so they're chest-to-chest. His thighs plant on either side of Louis's waist. He giggles cutely as he nuzzles his nose into his neck, breathing in his musky scent.

"Please, Lou," he whispers.

His bum shifts on his crotch, but Louis can't decide if it was accidental or purposeful. He gulps with nervousness. Harry's large hands move down to his sides, squeezing slightly.

"I'm tired," Louis says dryly, looking away to avoid Harry's burning stare.

"You leave me no choice," Harry sighs.

Before Louis can ask any questions, Harry's long, nimble fingers start tickling his ribs. Soft, breathy laughs escape his lips as he lightly traces his tummy. He squeezes his hips and prods at his torso until Louis hunches over in a fit of laughter, swatting Harry's hands away urgently, face turning pink.

"Okay," Louis chokes out between chuckles. "You win! Go pick a game."

"Yay!" Harry says triumphantly, hopping off Louis's lap.

The space over Louis's thighs feels cold now, like it's missing something— missing Harry, specifically. He bites his lip as Harry trots off to look under Louis's bookcase, where he keeps his boardgames. As he bends down, he can't help but notice how the hem of Harry's shirt rises up a little, revealing the dip at the bottom of his spine and the top of his crack. He squeezes the arm rests tighter, tries to look away. Tries not to be a creep.

"Scrabble," Harry announces, pulling out the red rectangular box. He sets it on the coffee table between them and picks apart its contents. He spreads out the colorful board and the black bag filled with letter tiles.

Louis bites back a smile. He loves whenever Harry reveals another layer of his complicated personality. He never expected that a stripper would have excitement over Scrabble, of all things. He puts stereotypes and presumptions to shame.

"You start," Harry presses, grinning widely.

His sharp canines are still lengthened, and Louis knows he has swollen and sore gums. Despite all this, he doesn't complain. Louis loves that about him. Even though he's been through hell in the past week alone, he's lovely and kind and incredibly sweet. And, for fuck's sake, he loves Scrabble. What kind of male stripper in his early-twenties loves spelling and vocabulary?

So Louis takes five of his seven letters and spells out _beaut_.

"Beaut," Harry repeats, snickering.

"What? It's a perfectly fine word," Louis huffs defensively.

"Yeah, of course, it's just— you're a _beaut_ , Louis," Harry teases with a smirk.

His green eyes connect with Louis's silver-tinted blue ones for a few seconds. Louis squints, searching for any sign of sincerity. Before he can find any, he rips his gaze away and falls to his own tiles. His nimble fingers ghost over his letters as he tries to spell something. Veins filled with concentration bulge in his temples.

In the end, Harry wins. Although, perhaps Louis lost on purpose, just to see him smile.

~

The next morning, Harry decides to take a shower. He has to work later that night and wants to be as clean as possible. So he hops into Louis's glass-walled shower and stands beneath the stream of hot water, sighing as it touches his skin, burning slightly. He tries to relax as steam surrounds him in a cloud of blurriness.

He grabs Louis's bottle of shampoo and lathers it into his long hair. It smells like him. He closes his eyes as the suds seep down his forehead.

He thinks about Louis, and how they stayed up late playing Scrabble, giggling and drinking beer, even if intoxication was near impossible for vampires. It had a tipsy effect, however, and left them with wide grins and slurred speech. They fought over foreign words, as Louis knew six languages and always tried to spell something French or Spanish or German with his tiles. Harry always swatted his hand away, said it wasn't fair. They played until they ran out of letter tiles and beer.

Eventually, Harry steps out of the shower. He dries off and changes into the clothes that Louis leant him— joggers and an Adidas t-shirt. He throws them on, and although they fit tightly, he loves it. Loves the musky scent of Louis that's engraved into the fabric. Loves how soft it feels against his skin.

He walks out and runs a towel through his dripping, wet hair. It looks even longer and darker like this. He stumbles over to Louis's bedroom and tosses the towel in his dirty laundry hamper. He borrows one of his combs to sort out his hair, frowning when he remembers that he can't use a mirror. Harry genuinely cares about his appearance, and he'd feel like a fool if he walked out to see Louis like this, all disheveled with tangled, drenched hair.

"Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair," Louis teases, suddenly appearing at the doorway.

Harry jumps and places his hand over his heart. "Fuck, you scared me."

Louis snorts. "You're a vampire now, Harry. Can't be afraid of anything."

The stripper shakes his head stubbornly. "Shut up," he says, crossing his arms over his chest. "Will you just come here and comb my hair for me? I hate not having a reflection."

Louis smiles warmly as he paces towards him. He ruffles a hand through the wet mop of hair on his head, flicking bits across his forehead.

"I quite like it like this," he teases.

Harry pouts. "Louis, please. I have to work tonight, and I need to look presentable."

Louis tsks. "Patience, love." He takes a seat on the edge of his bed and spreads his legs, pats the space between them. "Sit."

Harry obeys, slotting between his thighs, so his back is pressed to Louis's chest. Louis hums as he begins to comb through his long hair, untangling the damp knots and tangles. He twirls a loose curl around his finger, watching as it springs back when he lets go. Harry just sighs softly as the plastic comb's teeth glide along his scalp.

"So," Louis breathes, "are we ever gonna talk about what happened in the velvet room?"

Harry freezes. Louis notices the way his shoulders tense up, and he stops combing momentarily.

"Nothing happened."

Louis sets down the comb, and instead, he cards his fingers through his hair. It feels soft and silky. The tips of his brunette hair start to curl up, forming perfectly cute ringlets.

"Well, we kissed," Louis comments. "I think that's pretty significant."

"We didn't kiss."

"I kissed your neck," Louis grumbles. "And you kissed mine."

"Yes, but we didn't _kiss_ ," Harry says stubbornly, picking at his thumb nail. "It's just— it's my _job_ , Louis."

"Your job," Louis repeats slowly, as if he doesn't believe it.

"I kiss a lot of clients," Harry shrugs.

"But I'm not just another one of your customers."

Harry frowns as he stands up from the bed. His joints pop when he stretches his arms.

"Listen, Louis. You're a really nice lad, but I— I don't do commitment, and I don't do relationships. And I barely know you."

Louis's silver eyes narrow. "Who said anything about a relationship? I was just asking if we could talk about what happened, for fuck's sake."

Harry stands there for a few seconds in silence. Louis can't help but notice how small his clothes fit on Harry, how the hem of his t-shirt leaves a little sliver of skin above his joggers. He must've shaved or waxed, he thinks, because his stomach is perfectly smooth and hairless.

"I'm sorry," Harry huffs. "It's just kinda... complicated."

Louis gives a small, sympathetic smile. "Well, being a vampire is complicated."

He scoffs. "That's an understatement."

Louis snickers as he hops up from the bed. "C'mon, now. Let's go watch a film or summat. I think you need a bit of relaxation after working your arse off."

Harry smirks as he rubs his own bum teasingly. "Now that you mention it, it's quite sore. I could use a massage."

He's joking. Completely joking. And yet, Louis can't stop the faint flush that fills his pale cheeks. He bites his lip as he tries to push those dirty thoughts away, tries not to think of Harry's naked arse.

"Right," he coughs, ducking his head.

They walk out into the living room once again, where the air feels significantly warmer. Harry plops down on the couch while Louis cards through his selection of DVD's. He has an entire shelf filled with them. His bony fingers glide over their spines, reading the various titles.

"You have _Hotel Transylvania_?" Harry snickers, squinting at one of the DVD's.

Louis frowns. "Yeah. One of my mates bought it as a joke."

"We should watch it!" Harry says, eyes lighting up with excitement.

"Really, H? It's a cartoon children's movie."

"But it has vampires," Harry pouts. "Please?"

Louis rolls his eyes. He could never say 'no' to that. So he grabs the case and pops the disc into the player before curling up next to Harry. His damp head of curls tucks into the crook of his neck. He smells like his own shampoo.

As the title dances across the television screen, Harry giggles adorably. Louis feels butterflies blossom in his stomach, and he thinks, maybe this is what it's like to be alive.

~

That evening, as Louis and Harry start watching their third episode of _Family Guy_ , there's a knock at the door. It startles both of them. Louis's cottage is in the middle of nowhere, nestled in the woods with complete solitude. Harry jolts a little when he hears it. Louis furrows his brow with confusion.

"Were you expecting anyone?" Harry asks curiously.

Louis shakes his head. "No."

There's three more knocks, followed by a loud voice shouting, "Louis!"

Louis's eyes widen. He'd recognize that Irish accent anywhere. "Shit."

"Who is it?"

"It's— it's my friend. My vampire friend."

Harry smiles softly. "Answer the door, then. I'd love to meet him."

Louis stares blankly. "But, it's just... he doesn't know about you."

Harry raises a brow. "What about me?"

"That I— I _changed_ you."

"So, what's the big deal?" he presses.

Louis doesn't say anything. He just blinks.

"Louis! Open t' door, mate! I know you're in 'ere!" the voice calls again, muffled slightly through the wooden door.

Louis sighs tiredly as he stumbles over to the foyer. He intakes a sharp breath as he opens the door, twisting the handle. He looks even paler than usual, probably from nervousness.

Harry glances over his shoulder to see a blonde boy standing at his doorstep. He has a giant grin on his face and silver-tinted blue eyes, similar to Louis's. He reaches out with pallid arms to wrap Louis in a tight hug. Reluctantly, Louis hugs him back, forces out a grin. He laughs loudly as his face scrunches up with joy.

"I missed you!" the boy laughs. "It's been, what? Thirty years since we last spoke?"

"Twenty-seven, Niall," Louis replies calmly. He pulls back from the hug. "What are you doing here?"

"Well, I'm movin' back to Ireland for a few years and figured I'd stop by."

Louis smiles happily. He doesn't have many friends; as a vampire, he likes to keep as far away from humans as possible. His only true mates are often vampires as well. He met Niall in 1985 whilst staying in Tokyo, and they bonded over their shared love for music. They were best friends for about four years before Niall had to relocate again.

"It's so lovely to see you," Louis assures. "Come inside, yeah?"

Niall nods as he stepped in, toeing off his shoes. He wears a tight pair of skinny jeans and a black t-shirt, as he always loves simplicity. He looks hungry, Louis notes, and he figures he hasn't eaten in a month or so. He can see the strength draining from him. Dark circles hang under his eyes, and his flesh looks as white as snow.

The Irishman glances over to see Harry staring at him. They make eye contact for a second or so before Niall's mouth falls open.

"I didn't know you had company," he scoffs. "How rude of me to barge in like this."

Louis shakes his head and gives Niall a reassuring pat on the back. "No, mate, it's okay. This is Harry. He's staying with me. We're... we're kind of like roommates, I guess."

Harry dimples as he stands up, moving over to shake Niall's hand. His palm feels cold, even for a vampire. Niall looks relieved at Harry's kind nature.

"I'm Niall Horan," he grins. "It's nice to meet you, Harry."

"Likewise."

Louis still looks nervous, for some reason. He fumbles with his hands.

"Let's all sit down, yeah?"

Niall and Harry hum in agreeance. They walk back to the living room. Louis and Harry sit at the couch whilst Niall takes the rocking chair. Harry makes sure to switch off the telly so they can have a proper conversation. Then he studies Louis's worried face, tries to figure him out. Tries to determine why he seems so on-edge.

"So, where'd you meet Harry?" Niall inquires, reclining back in his chair.

Louis chuckles softly. "It's a long story."

Niall waves his hand. "I have all the time in the world, literally."

"Well, we—"

"We met at a stripclub," Harry cuts in. "I work there. I gave him a lapdance."

Niall quirks an eyebrow. "A vampire working as a stripper?" he asks, noting Harry's fangs and glowing eyes. "That seems quite risky. I usually pick low-profile jobs meself."

"Well, actually, I wasn't a vampire until this idiot came along," Harry snickers, poking Louis's side teasingly.

Louis froze. His teeth clench as his eyes shoot up to meet Niall's. His chapped lips pres together in fear. Harry swallows thickly at his reaction. Did he say something wrong? Maybe he wasn't supposed to joke about transitioning.

"You changed him?" Niall says softly, almost in disbelief.

Louis pauses. "Niall—"

"I can't believe you," the blonde boy huffs. "I thought you were totally against that? Said it was cruel to make people suffer for eternity?"

"I didn't mean to. It just kinda happened," Louis explains, voice low with shame.

"I don't understand," Harry frowns. "Is it bad to turn people into vampires?"

"It's a huge fucking responsibility," Niall sighs, brushing his hair out of his eyes. "You remember what happened to your last fledgling, right, Louis? You were heartbroken— contemplated suicide, for fuck's sake. You _really_ think it was a good idea to turn someone else?"

Harry gulps. This sounds serious. "Fledgling?"

The room falls silent. Louis looks like he is close to tears. Niall tilts his head with disappointment as he looks at his best mate, giving him a stare that says, are you kidding me? Louis just glances down at the floor and pinches his eyes shut.

"I should've told you sooner," Louis breathes out, touching Harry's knee. "I'm sorry."

"You haven't told Harry about bonding?!" Niall nearly shouts. "Jesus Christ, Louis. I guess it's good I stopped by. You need someone to stop you from bein' a total twat."

"Niall—"

"No, mate. I'm leaving," Niall grumbles, standing up from the rocking chair. "It was nice seeing you, but you've gotta sort this shit out." For emphasis, he flicks his index finger between Harry and Louis.

He storms out of Louis's cottage and slams the door behind him. The sound rattles Louis's brain. He sniffles as he wipes his eyes with the heel of his hand. Needless to say, that didn't go as planned.

Harry shifts away from Louis on the sofa. He feels scared and betrayed.

"What was Niall talking about? What secrets have you been keeping from me?" Harry says, voice as soft as a whisper.

Louis's bottom lip wobbles. He reaches to grab Harry's hand, but he flinches away. Louis's heart stings with pain.

"I'm sorry," he chokes out.

Harry's eyes darken. "That didn't answer my question, Louis."

Louis lets out a shaky sigh. "It's just— when a vampire bites a human and turns them, there's a bond that forms between them. Something that can't be broken. Something emotional."

Harry gulps. "That sounds serious."

"It is," Louis says quietly. "Young vampires are called fledglings, and you're— you're _my_ fledgling."

Harry doesn't say anything— just waits for him to continue.

"Basically, we're attached emotionally," he clarifies. "Until you become a full-grown vampire, that is."

Harry shakes his head slowly. He looks fearful. "But I don't do commitment."

Louis knows he doesn't have a choice in this. Bonding is inevitable. He's already started to feel the side effects— predictability, the desire to touch constantly, mind-reading. It's only a matter of time until they're inseparable. But he doesn't want to scare Harry even more, wants to give him the illusion that he has a choice in this.

"Okay," Louis chokes out.

They stare at each other silently. Neither of them know what to say.

Harry licks his chapped, swollen lips. "I need some fresh air," he says softly. He stands up and walks out of the cabin without another word.

But as he starts to stroll around through the woods to clear his head, Harry feels a tug at his heart. A desire spins around in his brain, telling him to go back inside to see Louis. That he _needs_ Louis. The craving increases with each passing second until he feels physically weak, to the point where his knees feel wobbly and his breath becomes labored.

In his head, he hears Louis's voice echo. _Be safe_.

So much for not bonding.

 


	10. The Separation

An ache burns in Harry's chest as he walks through the dense woods, brushing past tree branches and thorny bushes. Twigs and leaves crunch under his faux leather boots. The sun slowly starts to sink into the horizon, leaving fluffy wisps of pink and orange in its path. Harry tries to shake the voice out of his head that tells him to turn around and go back to Louis. He keeps telling himself that he doesn't _need_ Louis. Even if it's a lie, he continues walking.

When he reaches the side of the main road, he sighs with relief. He wants to get away from all of _this_ — away from Louis, specifically. Away from the constant reminders that he is no longer human. Away from the solitude of the cabin that claws at his ribcage and fills him with loneliness.

The echo in his brain says, _Breathe_.

Harry shakes his head and tries to ignore it. He pulls out his mobile phone from his back pocket and unlocks it, his numb fingers stumbling over the passcode. He ignores the texts popping up on his screen and decides to call Zayn. If he can rely on anyone in the world, it's Zayn. He presses the iPhone to his ear and waits patiently.

It rings three times before he picks up with a gentle, "Rose?"

Harry can't help but smile. "Hey, Angel."

Zayn chuckles lightly. "What's up, mate?"

"Not much," Harry lies, kicking a loose stone with his shoe.

"Are you working tonight?"

"Yeah. Actually, that's why I'm calling you. Think you can give me a ride?"

"Sure," Zayn says instantly. "I'll pick you up at your flat at seven, okay?"

"Um, I'm not at my flat," Harry murmurs, glancing around him. He sees a sea of green leaves and bright skies.

Zayn pauses. Harry can hear him fumbling with his phone. "Where are you, then?"

"Well, I _was_ at Louis's," Harry huffs. "But now I'm just standing on the side of the road like an idiot."

"Why?"

" 'cause I needed some fresh air," Harry says passively. "Don't worry about it, mate. I just wanted to get out of there for a while."

"Well, if you say so," Zayn grumbles. "What's the name of the street?"

"Oakford. 'm about two kilometers down the road."

"Okay, then. I'll see you in 'bout twenty minutes, yeah?"

"Yeah. Thanks, Angel."

"Anytime, Rose. Bye."

Harry leans against a nearby tree and opens up his Scrabble app. He taps at his phone to make the time go by faster. He pushes Louis to the back of his mind, but no matter how hard he tries, he can't ignore what happened. He's shocked that Louis would keep bonding a secret. In Harry's opinion, it's pretty damn intimidating— the idea of being tied down to one singular person.

But now, in an odd way, everything makes sense. He knows why he constantly desires to be near Louis, why he thirsts for his attention, why he feels like he's empty when they're separated. He can hear Louis's voice in his head when he's dancing up at stange. He can sense the lust, the needy desperation, the hot desire that burns in his stomach. At first he thought it was his imagination playing tricks on him, but now he knows it's reality.

He tries not to think about the silver-eyed vampire who stole his heart. He doesn't know _why_ he trusts Louis so much, but he figures it's a combination of bonding and dependency. When he's confused about becoming a vampire, he only has one person to turn to: Louis. He can't go to Zayn or the other dancers for vampiric advice, and he certainly can't rely on his parents or family. And so, by default, he _needs_ Louis.

Harry scrubs a hand down his tired face. His mind feels jumbled with conflicting emotions. Even though Louis has helped him immensely, he's also the reason that he's in this mess in the first place. He wishes he could go back in time and undo it all. Wishes they never met in the first place.

His life was much simpler back then, before he became a vampire. He had a routine. Wake up, go to the stripclub, sleep, repeat. And Louis fucking Tomlinson decided to walk into his life and tangle up the simplicity of his lifestyle, all because he misjudged Harry's character based on his job.

And that's another thing that pisses him off. Ever since he became a stripper, Harry's faced daily judgements and assumptions from others. People think they know his life better than he does. They think he's worthless, dirty, has no self-confidence. Think he has some sort of sad backstory that landed him in this shithole.

Harry sighs tiredly and leans his head backwards, knocking it against the nearest tree. The bark feels cold and damp against his hair. He gazes upwards and sees a light pink sheet of sky, interlaced with puffs of white clouds. He's not a religious man, but for a moment he finds himself praying whilst squinting at the sun. Praying that some sort of divine being will save him from this disaster.

Whilst the fallen leaves rustle on the grass, flowing in the breeze, he thinks about his job. He wonders how long he'll be able to keep it. Now that he's a vampire, he's more sensitive to brightness, and the spotlight has already started to burn his skin. It's just a light shade of pink, not very noticeable to the naked eye, but it _hurts_. He hopes that the customers can't see his discomfort when he dances around the pole, flexing his muscles and wiggling his arse. Lack of relaxation isn't good for business, as Liam always says.

Zayn's lavish, expensive car pulls up on the side of the otherwise-empty road. Harry smiles softly as he parks and rolls down the passenger window. He flashes him a golden grin and sparkling, chestnut eyes.

"Hey, stranger," he teases. "Need a lift?"

Harry laughs and climbs inside, sliding over the soft, black leather. It smells like cigarette smoke, but Harry doesn't mind. Zayn's clad in black skinny jeans and a Rolling Stones t-shirt, and Harry thinks it's weird to see him wearing actual clothes instead of a thong. Of course, they've seen each other outside of work, but only a handful of times.

After Harry buckles his seatbelt, Zayn does a u-turn in Louis's driveway and heads back towards the city. The bugatti's engine purrs loudly between them, increasing as Zayn accelerates beyond the speed limit.

"So, are you gonna tell me what happened with Louis?" Zayn prompts. "I know you say that you're just friends, but it seems like you care about him."

Harry pauses. "It's complicated."

"Complicated?"

"Yeah. I just— I don't really wanna talk about it, if that's okay."

Zayn frowns. "Alright. But you should know, I won't hesitate to kick Louis's arse if he hurts you," he says, glancing at Harry for a quick second. "I'm serious," he adds as an afterthought.

Harry smiles fondly. "Thanks, Zayn."

"No problem," he murmurs.

They fall into comfortable silence as they enter the city. Zayn drives towards Fool's Gold and parks in the back lot. Harry gulps when he looks up to see the club with its bright, neon sign. This place feels like a second home now. It's familiar, comfortable, a place to unwind. A place for his mind to go numb and forget all his worries.

Zayn and Harry climb out of the car and walk inside, pushing open the heavy door that protests with a squeak. It's nearly empty, of course, and the club won't open for another hour. They spot Liam cleaning off the circular tables with a dirty rag. The golden poles on the stages look freshly-polished, not a single fingerprint in sight.

At the bar, a bartender stacks shot glasses in a pyramid to occupy his time. A variety of alcoholic bottles rest behind him on a shelf, ranging in intensity, color, and taste. Harry wants a drink to clear his brain, but as he discovered last night with Louis, getting drunk isn't easy for vampires.

"Hey, Angel and Rose!" Liam says, noticing their presence. He looks professional and wealthy with his black suit and golden tie. He hasn't shaved recently, leaving a dark stubble on his chin.

" 'ello, Liam," Harry greets with a smile. "How's it going?"

"Lovely. Will you lads go help Jag in the dressing room with makeup?"

Zayn laughs and claps a hand on Harry's shoulder. "I'm rubbish at makeup, personally, but Rose is a glitter master."

Harry furrows his brow. "Glitter master?"

"Yeah. You're amazing at that stuff, Harry. Have you _seen_ your eyeliner skills? Top-notch."

Harry flushes and looks away. "Yeah, whatever."

Without another word, he vanishes into the dressing room, pushing past the red curtain. He walks inside and instantly sees a fog of smoke clouding up the room. The dancers lounge around carelessly, smoking blunts and giggling about nonsense. Golden thongs stick to sweaty, toned bodies. Harry purposely avoids the vanities in fear of passing by a mirror.

Jaguar sits on a stool with a spiff in one hand and a makeup brush in the other. It's an odd contrast, Harry decides, between the luxury and desperation of their lives. He leans towards another stipper and coats his eyelids with gold glitter. The other dancer, Romeo, bites his lip shyly. He's the newest employee at Fool's Gold and was hired less than two months ago. Needless to say, he hasn't opened up to everyone yet. He's quiet and reserved. He won't tell anyone his _real_ name and insists that everyone calls him Romeo. He has pretty, blonde hair and soft, green eyes as wide as the full moon.

"Rose!" Jaguar laughs, joint bobbing between his lips. "I'm so glad you're here, mate!"

Harry gulps as he pulls up a stool. He grabs a palette of eyeshadow and a tube of mascara from Jag's makeup kit. His large hand seems to swallow the small brush, which, he supposes, was originally manufactured for small, feminine hands.

"Who still needs makeup?" Harry asks dryly.

Star raises his hand, and Harry scoots closer to him. Star looks higher than Mount Everest, Harry decides. His eyes are rimmed with red, and he's biting down on his bottom lip thoughtfully. His golden thong clings to his thick, milky thighs, and he lets his eyes flutter shut. Harry tenses a little before he takes the brush and dabs it over his lids.

"Open up," Harry commands, and Star obeys. Harry takes the mascara and swipes it over his lashes. The strippers at Fool's Gold don't wear much makeup, but it helps with sales.

"You look tense, Rose," Star comments.

He grabs the white, twisted joint that he left in the ashtray. Without saying anything, he lifts it up to Harry's strawberry lips and slips it in. Harry hesitates at first before inhaling deeply, letting his chest puff out.

He hopes that he can forget about Louis— at least for a little while.

So he spends the rest of the evening grinding on the pole at the peak of his high. But when he comes down, everything crumbles.

~

Back at his apartment, Harry's falling apart.

He feels weak, but there's a nagging instinct in the back of his brain that commands him to go back to Louis's cabin. He can't function without him. He just sleeps in bed all day and gets high to forget about him. He calls in sick and decides to skip work. He's physically and emotionally _drained_.

Bonding is more serious than he previously anticipated. It's like he's a small, vulnerable child who can't fend for himself. And maybe he is. Afterall, he's a fledgling: a young, inexperienced vampire, incapable of surviving on his own. Louis is supposed to look after him. It's his responsibility, his duty.

And to make matters worse, he constantly hears Louis's voice in his head.

_I'm sorry, Harry._

Harry ignores it.

 _I should've told you sooner. I was just scared_.

He pretends he doesn't hear it.

_Please, forgive me. I need you._

Harry buries his face into his pillow and screams at the top of his lungs. His voice is muffled by the soft fabric, suffocating his worries. He lets a few tears slip out of his eyes and fall onto the sheets.

This routine of self-hatred and frustration continues for another day. The following afternoon, he's lounging around in his living room, watching some weird reality show. He eats an entire carton of chocolate ice cream, and even though he can't taste it, the coldness numbs his throat. It's a reminder that he can still _feel_ — that he's still somewhat alive, even if he's dead.

Then, there's a knock at the door. As soon as he hears it, he knows it's Louis. He can sense it in the pit of his stomach.

"Harry?" Louis calls through, knowing that he won't answer. He just wants to _talk_. "I know you're in there, sweetheart."

His soft voice sounds quiet and sweet and comforting. It soothes Harry's aching heart. He actually shivers with relief, as if Louis's presence can heal him in an instant.

"I can't come inside unless you let me in," Louis complains with a gentle sigh. "Please?"

Harry whimpers quietly. He's still so _angry_. It's Louis's fault that he feels so weak, like he can't function independently. He wants to prove his internal desires wrong, even if it hurts.  Even if it kills him.

"You're going through separation anxiety, H," Louis insists. Harry can see the shadows of his feet in the slit underneath the door. "I know how it feels, okay?  I'm hurting, too.  I need you as much as you need me."

Harry doesn't answer. He just pushes his ice cream aside, allowing his spoon to clatter onto the floor. He whines painfully and resists every vampiric urge to open the door, to collide into Louis's warm body, to breathe in his comforting scent. He doesn't want to prove what he fears— that this bond is _real_ and powerful and overwhelmingly possessive.

"Okay," Louis says sadly, and Harry can sense the heartbreak in his tone. "I'll leave you alone, then."

Harry blinks away his tears.

"You know where to find me," Louis reminds. "I'll see you later."

Harry can hear him turn around in the hallway outside, but then, he stops. He tenses up.

"Just take care of yourself, alright?" Louis begs. There's a long pause. "I'd never be able to live with myself if... something happened to you."

And then, Louis leaves, and Harry feels empty again.


	11. The Anxiety

Harry pulls his legs into his chest and whimpers, trying to make himself feel smaller. He just wants to disappear. Wants to forget about _everything_ — the bonding, the fact that he's a vampire, the thirst that burns in his stomach, and most importantly, Louis. He wants to erase those enchanting, silver-tinted eyes from his memory.

He wraps himself up like a cocoon, curling his duvet around his trembling body. He squishes his face into his feather-filled pillow and sighs heavily. He can't think about anything else, no matter how hard he tries. His mind continues to scream Louis's name at full volume, relentlessly, pounding into his skull. He feels lethargic and weak, but he knows that he won't be refreshed until he sees Louis again, and he refuses to do that. Refuses to believe that he's incompetent of caring for himself because he _is_ capable. He's been living on his own for years, after all. He doesn't need Louis.

At least, that's what he keeps telling himself.

Harry whines into his pillow, tears slipping out of his golden eyes. He's terribly hungry, and his stomach growls for blood, but he suppresses those thoughts and pushes them to the back of his brain. He's tired of feeling like a monster. He's tired of all of this, actually.

Eventually, Harry forces himself out of bed and stumbles into his bathroom to take a piss. He scrubs his eyes with his knuckles, trying to wake himself up. He feels dizzy with starvation, and even when he stands to pee, he can't find his balance. He braces himself on the wall and lets out a huff of frustration.

He's drained, both mentally and physically. He craves blood just as much as he craves Louis. He needs them both equally, but he'd rather starve than cave in and admit that he needs help. He wants to be independent. He doesn't like commitment.

Harry stands in front of the sink, mindlessly washing his hands. He looks up in the mirror, wanting to fix his hair, but then he sees nothing. He silently reminds himself that he doesn't have a reflection anymore. He lets out a choked, broken sob. Then, he grabs an elastic band and throws his messy hair up in a tangled bun.

He slowly walks out of the loo, dragging his feet, as if they're attached to chains. As soon as he walks past the couch, he collapses from exhaustion. He presses his head against the armrest and exhales heavily.

_Please, Harry._

He pinches his eyes shut and ignores Louis's voice. He doesn't want to listen to it. He wishes he could put his mind on mute.

_You're killing yourself. Let me help you._

Harry gulps at the suggestion. No, he's not killing himself. He's already dead. He may still be breathing, but he feels miserable, like he's trapped in a grave six feet underground. And Louis, of all people, is the one who buried him.

 _I need you, Harry. I'm in pain_.

Harry grumbles and rubs his temples in an attempt to relieve his headache. Of course Louis would make this situation about himself. He's a selfish prat.

When Harry blinks his eyes open, his vision turns blurry. He sees multiple layers, like he's looking through a kaleidoscope. He's floating, but at the same time, he's hypersensitive to his surroundings. He lets his lashes flutter shut delicately.

_I'm sorry. Please, forgive me. I should've told you, but I was scared of losing you._

That's the last thing Harry hears before he passes out on the couch.

~

Harry awakes to a fist pounding on his front door. He instantly feels fear shooting up his spine. He expects to hear Louis's voice shouting through, telling him that he _needs_ him. He rolls over on the couch and stares up at the ceiling, watching his fan spin around in circles. He ignores the knocking as it increases in volume.

"Rose! Open the bloody door, now!"

Harry perks up in surprise. No, that's not Louis. It's Zayn.

He scrambles off of the couch and walks over to his foyer. He rubs his eyes tiredly. He doesn't know what day it is, let alone the time. He figures it's nighttime, judging by the white moonlight that filters through the nearby window. The welcome mat squishes between his toes as he swings open the door.

Zayn stands in the hall. His face is red with anger. He's wearing some dark skinnies and a tank top with the club's logo sprawled across the chest. He has a duffel bag thrown over his shoulder with his golden thong peeking through the pocket, and Harry assumes he's just returned from his shift. His body still glistens with oil and glitter.

"For fuck's sake, Rose," Zayn growls, punching Harry's shoulder. He doesn't react to the pain. He doesn't show any emotions, either. "I thought you were dead! Why haven't you showed up at work?"

Harry swallows the lump in his throat. He just shrugs.

"Are you on something?" Zayn worries, waving a hand in front of his glossy face. "Your eyes are bloodshot. Have you been eating? You look like shit."

Harry's tongue feels dry. He never noticed it until now, but Zayn's blood smells _really_ good. It's fiery and sweet at the same time. And his olive flesh looks incredibly soft, just begging to be bitten into. Harry stares at his neck and licks his lips. He craves the metallic taste of warm blood flooding into his mouth.

Thankfully, he still has some sort of conscious understanding that Zayn is his mate. He resists every instinct that tugs at his brain, telling him to suck his blood. He just stands there silently, staring, deep in a trance.

"Hello? Talk to me!" Zayn orders, stepping inside Harry's flat. He slams the door behind him. Harry doesn't react to the loud noise.

Harry doesn't mean to, but he accidentally slips out, "Louis." His voice is weak and vulnerable and cracks with exhaustion. All he can think about is Louis.

"What about Louis?" Zayn demands, poking his finger into Harry's chest. "Did that prick get you hooked on some sort of drug? Tell me!"

Of course his mind would drift to drugs. Harry feels like he's high, after all. He _craves_ and _desires_ and _wants_. He looks like he's an addict, too, with bags under his eyes and pale, chapped lips. He's going through a withdrawal, and the side-effects are driving him towards absolute insanity.

"Fuck," Zayn huffs out. "Fine, don't answer me. Just sit down."

He guides Harry towards his couch. Harry sits down cautiously, like his bones are made of glass. His nose twitches when Zayn leans over to help him. He smells _so_ heavenly. No wonder his stage name is Angel.

"You haven't been to work in _three_ days, and you won't answer your damn phone," Zayn complains, watching as Harry's glossy eyes stare off into the distance. "Liam is _this_ close to firing your arse," he insists, pinching a bit of air between his fingers.

Harry leans his head backwards. His fingers scrape against the couch's worn-out fabric, squeezing slightly. He frowns at the idea of being fired. Despite all of this vampire bullshit, he genuinely loves his job.

Regardless, all he can say is, "Louis."

Zayn scoffs. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"

Harry just shakes his head, pinching his eyes shut. "Need Louis."

Zayn runs a hand down his face, clearly growing frustrated. He doesn't know what to do. He's never seen Harry like this— or _anyone_ , for that matter.

"Fine, you want Louis? I'll get him," Zayn shouts angrily. "Where the fuck is your phone, Rose?"

Harry sniffles. "Dunno."

Zayn grumbles and stomps into Harry's bedroom. He rummages around for a few minutes, yanking open random drawers and peeling back his comforters. Eventually, he finds his iPhone under his bed, thrown carelessly. He hurriedly unlocks it, disregarding the countless missed calls and texts that pop up on his screen.

He scrolls through Harry's contacts until he finds Louis's name with the purple devil emoji. His fingers tremble as he calls him up, holding the phone up to his ear. He bites his thumb nervously and prays that Louis will answer. He hates seeing Harry in this state of desperation, and he seems persistent that Louis is the only one who can fix it.

After the second ring, Louis answers with a frantic, "Harry?"

Zayn lets out a sigh of relief. "Louis, it's me, Zayn. I'm Harry's mate from the club."

Louis pauses for a few seconds. "Is he okay?"

"No, Louis. He's a proper mess. What did you _do_ to him?"

He hears Louis rustle with the phone. "It's difficult to explain, alright?"

"Well, you better get your arse over here before I take him to a psych ward."

He can hear the panic in Louis's voice when he inhales sharply. "No, Zayn, I— I'll be there soon. Just make sure he doesn't hurt himself."

Zayn bites his lip. "Why the fuck would he do that?"

Louis hesitates. "He's in a really fragile state. Just promise me that you'll keep an eye on him until I get there, alright?"

"Of course."

"Thank you. Bye."

Zayn grumbles with annoyance and hangs up. He tosses Harry's phone carelessly on his bed, sighing. He staggers back into Harry's living room to find him lying on the couch, whimpering, with his thumb between his lips. For fuck's sake. He looks like a helpless baby, sucking his thumb and crying. Zayn's heart melts a little, but he also feels deep concern for his wellbeing. He misses Harry's bubbly, excited personality.

"Harry," Zayn hushes, perching on the sofa next to him. He only uses his real name when he's feeling sensitive. He cards his fingers through his soft curls. "Do you need me to get you anything?"

Harry's lips tremble. "Louis."

"He's on his way," Zayn assures.

Harry whimpers and removes his thumb. Zayn doesn't notice the sharp, fang-shaped pricks that have nipped into his pale skin. He just sighs and pets Harry's hair, trying to calm him down and bring him back to reality.

_I'll be there soon, Harry. You'll be alright._

A few minutes later, Louis is standing at his doorstep. Instead of knocking for invitive permission, he speaks into Harry's thoughts.

_Can I come in?_

Harry squeaks out a quiet, verbal, "Yes."

Louis barges inside like a tormented storm. The door slams shut behind him. He immediately senses Harry's presence and walks into the living room. His footsteps sound like a soft, faint patter. Relief floods through Harry's veins like a tsunami. His tear-filled eyes flutter open as Louis enters the room.

Zayn looks up in surprise. "That was fast."

Louis gulps. "Well, I was in a hurry."

He crouches down next to Harry. Harry's wide, gold eyes stare into Louis's with intensity. His dark lashes flutter like butterfly wings. His jaw locks up.

"I'm sorry," Harry whimpers.

Louis doesn't know why he's apologizing, but he shakes his head. "No, love. _I'm_ sorry. This is all my fault."

Zayn breathes softly with surprise. He suddenly feels like he's intruding. "Should I leave?" he asks, thumbing over his shoulder. "I mean, as long as Harry's safe."

"Huh, yeah, he's alright," Louis assures. "Thank you, Zayn."

"It's fine, but I really need Harry to tell me," Zayn snaps back. "I don't have any reason to trust you."

Harry smiles softly at Zayn's protectiveness. He gathers enough strength to sit up properly, wiping the tears away from his eyes. His trembling ceases.

"I'm okay now," Harry murmurs shakily. "Thanks, Angel.

"Well, if you say so," Zayn says, standing up. "Ring me if you need anything, okay? And I need you to explain _this_ , when you're feeling better." For emphasis, he motions between the two of them.

Harry flushes. "Alright."

With that, Zayn kisses Harry's cheek and leaves his flat.

They're alone, and Harry can feel the tension arise between himself and Louis. Louis stands in front of him with his lips pressed into a thin line. His eyes are cold and icy. Harry's lungs constrict with nervousness. He's craved Louis for so long, but now that he's actually here, he doesn't know what to do.

Louis looks drained, too, with lifeless flesh and drooping eyes. His lips are bitten and torn up. He's starving, and Harry figures he hasn't been able to eat because he's been worried sick about his fledgling, literally. He's ill with separation anxiety.

"I felt so weak," Harry whimpers, the first to break the silence.

Louis sighs quietly. "No, you're not weak. You're strong."

"But—"

"No, you need to hear this," Louis interrupts, sitting next to him. He holds Harry's bony hand in his own. His flesh feels cold and lifeless, in dire need of blood. "Bonds aren't fragile; they're _strong_. We become powerful when we're together, not weak. I need you, and you need me, but that's what makes us special."

A teardrop slides down Harry's reddened cheek. "I don't _feel_ strong."

"But you are, Harry," Louis assures, rubbing his thumb over his palm. "Do you know how proud I am of you? Becoming a vampire isn't easy, but you've handled it like a champ."

Harry whines in the back of his throat. This skin-to-skin contact overwhelms him. He wants _more,_ wants to feel their icy bodies sliding together, creating friction and heat. He leans inward until their foreheads touch and their noses nuzzle together. He wants to touch his pallid lips with his own.

"Harry," Louis whispers, squeezing his hips, "it's so hard to resist you."

Harry swallows hard. "Then don't."

So Louis kisses him passionately, and Harry's hands travel up to hold his shoulders, digging his dull nails into his skin. His lips feel rough and gentle at the same time. Louis's tongue slips into his mouth and flicks over his fangs. Harry gasps quietly into the heated snog and pulls Louis down onto the couch urgently. Before he can react, Harry hops onto his lap and straddles his waist, planting his thick, milky thighs on either side of him. He kisses him until all of the sadness and longing dissolves between them.

And finally, Harry feels whole again.  


	12. The Recovery

Harry carelessly traces random patterns on Louis's chest, causing the older man to tense up. His cold, lifeless fingertips feel like ice against his skin. His gold-tinted eyes burn with hunger, and his stomach aches for relief. He craves the strong, metallic taste of warm blood on his tongue, filling him with revival. As he sits on Louis's lap, forehead pressed into his neck, he feels his body unwind with weakness.

Louis's hands roam up and down his back soothingly. His breathing is slowing down gradually, becoming rough and fatigued. He needs to eat. His body is starting to shutdown to conserve energy, so they need to act quickly. Louis knows that naturally, fledglings need more blood than full-grown vampires, so this intense thirst is relatively normal.

"Harry," Louis speaks softly. "You need to eat."

He pauses. "Need to rest," he grumbles.

"No," Louis says sternly. "You're starving yourself."

Harry stiffens at the accusation. He lifts his head up slowly, revealing pallid, sickly skin and dark circles beneath his eyes. His lips are chapped and pale, almost white. Louis misses the bubblegum pinkness that once filled his delicious, kissable mouth.

"You're coming with me, whether you like it or not," Louis huffs with exasperation. "I'm not losing you again."

Harry sighs like an upset child. His movements are slow and syrupy, filled with exhaustion and lethargy. He steadily slides off of Louis's lap with his head hung low.

"Okay, Daddy," he teases.

It's supposed to be a light joke, a prod at Louis's protectiveness, but it definitely catches him off guard. He gulps and examines Harry's face, searching for any sign of sincerity, but he only finds weariness. Apparently, Harry's tired mind can't think clearly. His hunger distracts him from the obvious innuendo.

"Don't call me that," Louis orders.

Harry bites his lip shyly. "Sorry, Daddy."

Louis's hands tighten into fists. A look of dominance crosses over his silver, shining irises. He resists every urge to pounce on Harry and ravish him completely. He just lets his brain burn with sexual frustration and keeps his dirty thoughts to himself.

"C'mon," Louis says abruptly, grabbing Harry's wrist.

He pulls him off of the couch. Harry's body feels like a heavy weight, dragging along with resistance. He follows Louis obediently and doesn't bother asking questions. After all, Louis tends to be spontaneous.

They exit Harry's flat and walk out to find Louis's shiny Porsche parked along the curb. Harry paces silently and instinctively squeezes Louis's hand. He never realized it until now, but his hands are incredibly petite, and the rope tattoo that wraps around his wrist makes him seem even more delicate. He's a contradictory masterpiece— the perfect combination of daintiness and masculinity.

Louis opens up the passenger side door, allowing Harry to slide inside. The comfortable, soft leather swallows him with warmth. His head lolls to the side tiredly as Louis closes the door and climbs to the other side, behind the steering wheel. He starts up the engine.

Harry frowns and picks at his nails passively. His head feels cloudy, like he's elsewhere, not in reality. The sensation of drowsiness starts to fill his veins.

"Where are we goin'?" Harry croaks curiously.

Louis's throat bobs with nervousness, but he doesn't say anything. His cold eyes stare through the windshield as they start driving towards the run-down side of town. When Harry looks outside, he sees crumbling houses and prostitutes lining the streets. Empty vodka bottles and discarded beer cans fill the neighborhood lawns. Harry's lips quiver slightly.

He's fairly familiar with this neighborhood. It has a bad reputation. Sometimes, Liam visits these streets to find new dancers and potential customers.

"This place is crawling with evil humans," Louis explains eventually. "It's like a vampire's buffet."

Harry freezes. "Louis, I can't—"

"I'm taking you to a brothel," he interrupts. "Niall says he hunted there a few days ago."

Harry tenses at the word _hunted_. He hates feeling like a predator. Even if these people are bad, he doesn't want to kill them. It contradicts everything he learned in life. He can't comprehend the idea of taking somebody's life away for his own selfish gain. And the act of murder in itself, with all the blood and gore, sends a shiver down his spine.

It's ironic, Harry thinks. The one thing that keeps him alive also kills his conscious morality.

"Hey," Louis says abruptly, cutting off his train of thought. "Stop overthinking it. You're just doing what you need in order to survive."

Harry scoffs. "We _kill_ people. Don't you feel guilty?"

He shakes his head without hesitation. "No, I don't feel guilt anymore."

"Why not?"

"Because we kill people who deserve to die."

Harry falls silent. He just focuses on breathing as he stares out the smudge-covered window. Louis's opulent car probably looks out of place in this poverty-stricken neighborhood. He doesn't know if he agrees with Louis, necessarily. A lot of people are _bad_ , but that doesn't mean they deserve a death sentence.

"You thought I was a bad person when we first met," Harry murmurs quietly. "You thought _I_ deserved to die, too."

Louis chews on the inside of his cheek for a few seconds. "But I didn't _kill_ you, did I?"

"You almost did."

"But I stopped myself."

"Doesn't matter. Your judgement isn't perfect, Louis," Harry argues.

Louis frowns. "I can't let you starve to death. We're bonded, and you're my responsibility."

Harry crosses his arms over his chest. "I'm fine on my own—"

"No, you're not!" Louis shouts.

Abruptly, the car comes to a screeching halt as Louis presses the break. They both shoot forward, and Harry braces his hands on the dash. He sends Louis a sharp glare, but he just rolls his eyes and pulls over to the side of the road. He quickly puts the car in park to give Harry his undivided attention.

"You're not capable of fending for yourself," Louis snaps with intensity. "You almost _died_. Do you know how scared and useless I felt? If something happened to you, I— I don't know what I'd do. So, _please_ , let me help you."

Harry sniffles and ducks his head. "I'm fine."

"You're freezing cold, Harry," Louis points out, pressing his palm to Harry's forehead. His skin feels like frost that covers windshields in the winter. "You're dying."

Harry blinks away his tears. He doesn't want to cry. "I'm okay."

"Harry," Louis chokes out. He sounds like he's suppressing the urge to sob. He's built up a wall to hide his vulnerability, but now Harry can see that it's starting to breakdown. "Please do this for me. I need you. You mean so much to me."

The green-eyed boy pauses momentarily. "I'm really scared," he breathes.

Louis gives him a sympathetic frown. He reaches over and grabs his hand, squeezing it. His fingers feel like stiff, brittle icicles. It's as if he can see the health, happiness, and strength draining from his body.

"It'll be alright," Louis promises. "I'll be by your side, always."

Harry gives a small, weak smile. Even though his nerves are rattled, he feels safe. He knows Louis would never let anything harm him. That's what bonds are for, after all. It's a mutual trust of protection and love.

Louis leans in and pecks his cheek. Then he starts driving again, keeping one hand possessively on Harry's knee.

~

The brothel is, as predicted, filled with disgusting men and brainwashed hookers. One of the pimps meets Louis and Harry at the front door and guides them inside. He's a tall, scrawny man with deep, sunken eyes and rotten teeth. Red marks and bruises from heroin injections stain his forearm. Harry hides his internal fear and clings to Louis's side.

"We need girls," Louis says simply.

The man scrunches his nose. There's a grey couch behind him, and the cushions are filled with cigarette holes, exposing the underlying yellow foam. An ash tray rests on the coffee table with discarded joints and smokes. The air reeks of marijuana, sweat, and sex.

Dirty tiles cover the floor, filled with cracks and dirt. The walls are painted a horrible shade of olive green. Harry tries to ignore the blood-covered needles and empty liquor bottles. He may be a stripper, but he's never been exposed to this kind of living before.

"How do I know you're not a snitch?" the man spits.

Louis hums and reaches into his pocket. He pulls out a large stack of cash and hands it over, slapping it into the stranger's veiny hand. He looks down and smirks. Then, his eyes flicker between Harry and Louis.

"Alright. How many do ya' want?"

Harry bites his lip. He can't believe these men treat these poor, defenseless girls like property. It makes him sick to his stomach. Now, he doesn't feel guilty about wanting to suck this man's blood and kill him slowly. He just _desires_.

"Two," Louis shrugs.

The man grins wickedly. "Alright. The girls are all upstairs. You can go help yourself."

Louis hums thoughtfully. Before the drugged-out man can react, he pushes him against the nearest wall with his superior strength. His hand clamps over his mouth to muffle his shouts. He hopes that none of the prostitutes wander downstairs. He doesn't want to hurt them, too. They've probably suffered enough already.

"How about we help ourselves to _you_ instead, hm?" Louis growls.

The stranger's eyes widen. Suddenly, Harry hears a crunching noise. Judging by the way Louis's arm is pressing against his chest, he assumes it's the man's ribs breaking. He tries to scream, but Louis just clamps his hand tighter to silence him. The pimp nudges against Louis's chest, but he's _much_ stronger.

"Bite him, Harry," Louis orders. "I'll hold him."

Harry loses control. He can't resist the strong, addictive scent that boils beneath this man's skin. His blood smells heavenly. So he latches onto his throat, piercing his fangs into his neck. The man screams, but it's barely audible behind the pressure of Louis's palm. Relief floods into him as he begins to suck greedily. The warm, bitter liquid flows into his mouth. He gulps it down easily.

The man becomes limp in Louis's grasp. When he stops fighting back, he knows he's dead. Regardless, Harry continues to slurp against his flesh. His animalistic instincts kick in, and he knows he won't be able to stop, no matter how hard he tries.

Eventually, he pulls off. Red blood drips down his chin, so he wipes it off with the back of his hand. He licks his lips with satisfaction.

"Fuck," he rasps. "That felt incredible."

He looks down to see the man completely lifeless. He looks significantly paler, almost as white as snow. His eyes are still open, and it makes Harry's stomach churn with disgust. But at the same time, he feels like he's done these girls a favor. Nobody deserves to be locked up in rooms, waiting to be used and traded like objects.

"You done?" Louis asks Harry, biting his lip hesitantly.

Harry nods in silence.

With that, Louis digs his fangs into the other side of the pimp's throat. He sucks the small amount of blood that remains in his body. It's barely one liter, but it fills his veins with warmth and relief. Harry can't help but stare at the way his biceps flex, how he pins the limp man against the wall with powerful force.

When he's finished, he drags the dead body towards the couch and lays it down. He steps back and sighs, wiping the excess blood off of his reddened mouth.

"We can't just leave him here," Harry grumbles.

Louis shrugs. "Why not? It'll look like a drug overdose," he says, glancing at the nearby heroin needles and bags of cocaine.

Harry frowns. He drags his finger over the two red, bloody wounds that cut into the side of his throat. "I doubt those girls will believe that."

"Nobody gives a shit about men like him," Louis insists. "They're pigs."

Harry gulps. He's probably right.

"Let's go home, yeah?" Louis says, throwing an arm around his shoulder. "We can head back to my cabin and cuddle."

Harry chuckles as they walk out of the brothel. "Sounds great."

They climb into Louis's Porsche, as if nothing ever happened. As if they didn't kill a man five minutes prior.

But as they start driving back towards the main city, Harry's phone buzzes in his pocket. He pulls it out and narrows his eyes at his bright screen. It's an incoming call from Zayn. He furrows his brow curiously as he slides his thumb over to answer.

"Hey, Angel."

He hears Zayn fumble with his phone. " 'ello, mate. What are you up to?"

Harry pauses. He can still taste blood on his teeth. "Not much. Yourself?"

"Just chillin'. I was actually wondering if I could talk to you and Louis about... something. About what happened earlier at your flat."

Harry raises an eyebrow. "Did I do something wrong?"

"No, but I— I think it's a conversation we need to have in person."

Harry's stomach sinks. Louis notices Harry's discomfort and glances over for a brief second before returning his attention to the road. He wonders what's causing him so much distress. He can faintly hear a voice muffled in his phone, but he can't decipher the dialogue.

"Erm, yeah," Harry murmurs. "We're actually on our way to Louis's place now. Wanna meet up there?"

Zayn doesn't respond for a few seconds. Harry feels nervousness burn in his chest. Whatever Zayn wants to discuss, it sounds serious.

"Sure," Zayn huffs out. "See you soon, Rose."

And then he hangs up. Harry gulps as he pulls his phone away. He blinks a few times to clear his confusion.

"You alright?"

Harry exhales a deep breath. "I dunno," he admits. "That was Zayn. He wants to talk to us about something."

"Something?"

"About what happened at my place."

Louis swallows the lump in his throat. His cold eyes, which have softened from silver to an icy blue, stare through the windshield mindlessly. "Well, he saw you when you were all... loopy. When you were going through bond separation. That probably seems abnormal to him."

Harry bites a hangnail on his thumb to distract himself. "Do you think he knows?"

"About what?"

"That we're vampires."

Louis considers it. "I don't think so," he concludes, "but he's probably suspicious."

Harry huffs sadly. "Being a vampire is so complicated."

Louis laughs with agreement. Keeping one hand on the wheel, he smooths his thumb over Harry's nape. He plays with his loose, soft curls, and twirls them around his finger. Harry reacts like a playful kitten and leans into his gentle touch.

"Thank you for saving me," he sighs. "I'd probably be dead right now if it weren't for you."

Louis smiles. "It's my job, babe. I'll always keep you safe."

Harry hums, pleased with the response. Regardless of what the future has in store, he and Louis are strong enough to conquer it together.


	13. The Reveal

Steam curls up against Zayn's reddened cheeks as he takes another sip of his hot tea. His fingers curl around the mug tightly. Harry admires the floral tattoo that stains his olive skin, bumping over his knuckles with beautiful patterns. His body is like a work of art.

He's definitely one of the most popular dancers at Fool's Gold. While most of the strippers are petite+, young twinks, Zayn is a majestic sex god with rippling muscles, tattooed skin, and pierced ears. He offers some variety for the customers who crave bad boys and troublemakers. His stage name is ironic, Harry thinks, because he's anything but _angelic_.

When Harry first started working at Fool's Gold, Zayn was the first dancer to make him feel welcome. He showed him the ropes, taught him how to apply makeup, and even gave him a few critiques whenever he practiced on the pole. Harry deeply admires his work ethic and his concern for others. Although he masks his appearance as a rebel, he's really just a sweet, kind, selfless twenty-two year old.

Currently, they're gathered inside of Louis's cabin. Zayn sits across from Louis and Harry on the opposite sofa, sipping his tea silently. It's dark outside, pitch black, with the full moon shining brightly in the sky. White moonlight soaks through Louis's curtains. Since his cottage is nestled in the deep wilderness, they can hear wildlife and nighttime birds screeching in the darkness. The wind whistles against his glass windows and muffles their voices.

"So," Zayn says, clearing his throat. His gaze shifts between Harry and Louis, who sit together on the couch with their hands nearly touching. "I have a feeling you two are more than just mates."

Harry gulps. The truth is, he doesn't know if they _are_ more than platonic. They have yet to discuss labels, but he doesn't know if he can emotionally handle that conversation right now. He's starting to accept the fact that Louis is his bond, but he's not sure if he's ready to accept him as his lover. Or if he even _wants_ Louis to be his lover.

"I don't want there to be any lies between us," Zayn huffs out. "What happened earlier was very... intense, and I'm concerned for you, Rose. I really am."

Harry's mouth feels dry. "Listen, Angel. I can't really explain what's going on between Louis and I. To be honest, I'm trying to understand it myself. But— I'm safe, okay? I promise."

Zayn tilts his head apprehensively. "You weren't acting like yourself. You were so... distant. Like you couldn't live unless you had Louis by your side. That's not healthy."

Louis tenses. "I would never hurt Harry," he assures.

He genuinely means it. Even the very _thought_ of harming Harry makes his stomach feel queasy. As his protector, it's Louis's job to watch over him and assist him through his transition. It's like a paternal instinct, but less fatherly. More animalistic.

(Although, Louis wouldn't mind if Harry called him Daddy.)

Zayn sighs at length. "Then why can't you tell me what's going on?"

"It's complicated," Louis says simply. His arm curls protectively around Harry's shoulder. He can feel his weight pressing down on his neck, and it acts as a constant reminder that Louis is here by his side, keeping him safe.

"Right," Zayn breathes. "I had a feeling you were gonna say that."

Harry frowns. "I just—"

"I looked up your symptoms online," Zayn interrupts. "Attachment, fatigue, excess sleep, feelings of worthlessness, and loss of appetite. I must say, I'm surprised at what I stumbled across."

Harry shoots Louis a nervous glance. His dull nails dig into the couch cushion with anxiety. A fraction of silence passes between them. Harry wonders if Zayn found any information about vampires or bonding. The idea of being exposed makes his head spin in circles.

"And after I started researching it some more, it all started to make sense," Zayn continues. "I just want you to know what I completely support your lifestyle, okay? As long as you're safe."

Louis pauses. "Our lifestyle?"

Harry thinks he might throw up. Oh, God. Zayn knows that they're vampires. He knows that they're bonded, and now everything is ruined. How could he have been so reckless?

"Yeah," Zayn says after a few seconds. A faint pinkness rises to his cheeks. "I mean, I never expected Harry to be into the whole BDSM thing, but it's your choice, and I completely understand."

Their stomachs both drop sharply. Louis actually _grins_ , while Harry stares blankly. Is _that_ what Zayn thinks? For fuck's sake.

"Um," Harry chokes out, which is actually more intelligible than what he's thinking ( _Wait, what?)._

"I gotta tell you, sub drop sounds absolutely terrifying," Zayn says, chuckling softly to break the tension. "I'm just glad Louis could take care of you afterwards."

Harry wants to cry. No, no, no. This isn't right. This is all false, but he knows he can't tell him the truth. That would not only expose Harry's vampiric abilities, but also Louis's. So he just lets Zayn live in his delusional world where Harry is some kind of masochist who thrives off of Louis's attention.

"Sub drop," Harry repeats slowly.

He's heard of it before, but just vaguely. He remembers a former dancer at Fool's Gold who used to be in a BDSM relationship. He told Harry that his partner would sometimes fall into this state of depression after an intense sexual scene. It's supposedly triggered by a sudden drop of adrenaline and endorphin, or something like that.

Zayn smiles softly. "There's nothing to be ashamed of. A lot of people have weird kinks."

Harry sputters to choke out, "I'm not—"

"Hush, baby," Louis cuts him off, a smirk tugging on his pink lips. His hand squeezes his shoulder comfortably, and even though Harry knows it's all an act, it feels nice. "Be a good boy and lower your voice."

Harry blushes and sinks back into the comfy sofa. Zayn suddenly looks awkward, like he's invading their personal space. He takes another sip of his tea before setting it down on the coaster.

"Anyway, I'll leave you two lovebirds alone now," he says, standing up. When he flexes his arms over his shoulders to stretch out his muscles, Harry hears his joints pop. "I've said everything that I've wanted to. I love you, Harry, and I support you. Whatever makes you happy makes me happy, too. Just don't let it interfere with work again."

Harry bites his lip shyly. "I won't."

"Alright, then. I'll see you at the club tomorrow, yeah?" Zayn smiles. He ruffles a hand through Harry's soft curls. Harry just dimples in return, trying to suppress his inner-confusion.

"Thanks for having me over, Louis," Zayn says, giving him a short wave as he heads towards the nearby foyer.

With that, he tugs on his jacket and leaves the warm cottage. Louis and Harry sit in silence as they stare out the window. They watch Zayn's bright, yellow headlights flash on as he pulls out of his driveway and speeds down the road.

As soon as his engine can no longer be heard, Louis snorts. He looks over at Harry with wild, surprised eyes and a goofy grin. He can't believe that just happened. He doubles over in laughter until his cheeks turn pink. Harry just crosses his arms over his chest and pouts.

"It's _not_ funny!" he growls, smacking Louis's shoulder.

Louis gasps in between his giggles. "Zayn thinks we're in a BDSM relationship!" he cackles.

"Shut up!" Harry huffs. "It's completely humiliating."

"Aw, c'mon, H. It's hilarious!"

"Maybe for _you_ ," he says stubbornly. "But he thinks _I'm_ the submissive one. What the fuck?"

Louis smiles smugly, wiping the hysterical tears out of his eyes. "You're the youngest, love. And besides, you shake your arse for a _living_. You spend half of your day wearing skimpy panties."

Harry's mouth gapes. "It's my work uniform!"

Louis snickers, little crinkles forming next to his eyes. "Don't raise your voice at me, baby. Do you want Daddy to spank you?"

Harry covers his flushed face with his hands. "Louis, please."

"That's _Daddy_ to you," he corrects. He's having _way_ too much fun with this, but he wants to milk this moment for all that it's worth.

Harry grumbles something incoherently before he stands up with frustration. He turns around to leave, probably to lock himself in the bathroom, but Louis clamps his hand around his wrist and pulls him back down. A look of sincerity crosses over his face.

"Hey, I'm sorry," Louis says seriously. "I won't tease you anymore. I'm just trying to lighten the mood."

Harry frowns as he picks at his short nails, rubbing at the red polish residue. He can't look up and meet Louis's enchanting eyes. Those silver depths are capable of holding him hostage.

"I was actually scared that Zayn found out about us," he mumbles. "That we're vampires, y'know? I thought we'd have to run away to another continent and change our names. I thought I ruined _everything_ , and it was terrifying."

Louis chews on the inside of his cheek. Slowly, he reaches over and caresses Harry's hand. His thumb rubs over the smoothness of his palm. Not surprisingly, his touch calms him down instantly. Perks of having a bond.

"It's okay," Louis promises. " _We're_ okay."

And just like that, Harry believes him. "We're okay," he echos.

Louis's smile widens. He never anticipated that, after two hundred and twenty six years, he'd finally find someone like this. Someone who makes his heart leap out of his chest. Someone who keeps him on the edge of his seat. Someone who brightens his day and makes his tummy feel all tingly.

"Are you tired?" Louis asks. "It's been a long day. You seem like you need a proper rest."

Harry hums thoughtfully. "Yeah. Wanna relax for a little while."

Louis nods in agreement. "I'll go fetch some blankets and pillows. You still don't mind sleeping on the couch, right?"

Harry considers it. It's not like his couch is uncomfortable. He's slept on it several times before, after all. But it's always so lonely when Louis disappears into his own bedroom, leaving Harry to dwell in solitude. He likes the comfort of firm, familiar arms around his waist as he drifts off into a state of slumber.

"Can I sleep with you?" Harry asks bashfully.

Louis furrows his brow. "You mean—"

"Not like that," Harry giggles. "I mean, erm, I wanna cuddle? If that's alright."

Louis's lungs constrict. He's so damn adorable. His cuteness should be illegal, honestly. It's starting to take a toll on his emotional and physical wellbeing.

"Of course," Louis agrees after a few seconds.

So they walk into his dimly-lit bedroom and curl up in his bed wordlessly. His white sheets feel cold, soft, and smooth against Harry's shaven legs. Louis tugs up his blue duvet so it wraps them with warmth. Their feet knock against each other. Harry giggles softly as he turns onto his side. Out of instinct, Louis curls his arms around his waist and tucks his soft curls beneath his chin. He presses a gentle kiss to the top of his head.

"Goodnight," Harry yawns.

"Night."

When his eyes flutter shut, he hears Louis's soothing voice whisper in his head.   _Sweet dreams, baby_.

Harry knows the cute pet name is another submissive joke, but he doesn't mind. Not one bit.  


	14. The Partition

"Lou," Harry grumbles, poking Louis's bare shoulder. "Get up. I'm bored."

Louis sighs dramatically. He looks peaceful with messy, fluffy hair, like a sleeping kitten. The side of his face turns into his feather-filled pillow, which offers some cold relief from the humid air. He's shirtless, which is unfortunate for Harry. He can't resist staring at his faint chest hair and pretty tattoos, which stretch over his defined collarbones with black ink. Ever since they killed that man at the brothel, his flesh has appeared tanner and less sickly. Harry wants to lick over his caramel skin and cover his abs with sweet kisses.

"Five more minutes," Louis begs, voice gravely and grumbly. It sends a shiver down Harry's spine. His morning voice sounds incredibly _sexy_.

He pouts. "But we're vampires, Lou. We don't even _need_ sleep."

Louis hums. "Feels nice, though."

Harry rolls his eyes and shifts around the bed, causing the mattress to bounce up and down. Eventually, he straddles Louis's waist, planting his thighs on either side of his body. Of course, his bum is planted directly over Louis's crotch. His hands rest on his soft tummy.

"I wanna do something," Harry huffs. He pokes his chest again. "Please?"

Louis finally cracks open an eye. Harry sees a burst of silvery blue behind his long, beautiful lashes. His scuff is longer now, rougher, and Harry can't help but imagine how it would feel rubbing between his thighs. He craves the scratch of wiry hairs itching up his skin, followed by the soothing wetness of his tongue.

Fuck. Harry curses his vivid imagination.

He can feel the outline of Louis's limp cock beneath his arse, slipped right between his cheeks. His jaw tightens with frustration, and his cheeks flush pink.

"Fine," Louis caves in, gazing up at the beautiful boy on top of him. "What do you wanna do today?"

Harry ponders it for a moment. "Kinda wanted to go out."

Louis raises an eyebrow. "Out?"

"Yeah. I've got cabin fever."

Louis smiles softly. "We could go for a walk in the park, if you'd like."

Harry steals a glance at Louis's alarm clock, which tells him that it's currently 10:34 in the morning. "Yeah, that sounds perfect."

"Alright, love. Go take a shower, then."

With a triumphant grin, Harry climbs out of bed and stumbles over to Louis's bathroom. He immediately peels off his dirty clothes and slips into the warm, steamy shower. And if he jerks off to the thought of Louis eating him out, nobody has to know.

~

Vibrant, green trees surround the concrete path that loops through the park. Up above, a blue sheet blankets the endless sky, interlaced with puffs of white cotton balls. The faint breeze rustles through Harry's long, curly hair. Due to their sun sensitivity, Louis brought along an umbrella, which provides temporary shade from the burning light. It's small, so Harry has to stay close to Louis's side, not that he's complaining.

They ignore the weird looks that they receive from others. Harry just flushes and pretends he doesn't notice. Instead, he takes out his iPhone and snaps pictures of the pretty landscape. Louis watches fondly as Harry struggles to find the perfect angle and filter effect.

"You're so peculiar," Louis blurts out.

Harry makes a confused sound in the back of his throat. "What do you mean?"

"You're just a very complex individual," Louis explains, and for a moment, Harry can sense the old-fashioned tone in his voice. It's odd to think that this beautiful man is two hundred and twenty six years old. He's lived through countless wars, plagues, deaths, and tragedies.

"I consider that a compliment," Harry shrugs. Their shoulders knock together as they crowd beneath the umbrella's shadow. They're so close that Harry can smell nothing but Louis's rich cologne.

"You're confident and shy at the same time," Louis begins, voice low. "Sexy yet bashful, sincere yet cheeky, carefree yet intelligent. You're like a walking, breathing paradox."

Harry giggles at that. "A stripper, yet a vampire," he repeats, mocking Louis's voice.

"That is peculiar, y'know," Louis breathes. "Most vampire prefer to dwell in the shadows of society. They take on boring, normal lives, like meself. But you, on the other hand, like to live in the spotlight."

"I prefer it that way," Harry assures. "I love my job."

Louis feels conflicted. He knows Harry is very passionate about his dancing. Every time he spins around that golden pole, he exudes self-confidence, sexiness, and pure bliss. It's incredible to watch. It's almost hypnotizing.

But at the same time, it's dangerous. The bright, flashing lights might burn his sensitive skin. The vanity mirrors in the dressing room could give him away. Customers may catch a glimpse of his fangs or notice the bite mark on his neck. Having a high-profile job whilst being a vampire is risky, to say the least.

"Do you have to work tonight?" he ponders out loud.

"Yeah."

"Well, I'm coming with."

Harry chuckles. "I know we're bonded and all, but I think I can survive a few hours by myself."

Louis thinks otherwise. Harry has only been a vampire for less than one month. He's not as experienced and knowledgeable as he thinks he is. Until he emerges from his fledging phase, Louis needs to watch over him like a hawk.

"Who said I wanna come to see _you_?" Louis teases. "There are plenty of fit guys at Fool's Gold, and I'm gonna watch them."

Harry tenses up. The thought of Louis staring at other dancers and admiring their bare bodies makes his skin itch. He wants Louis's attention on himself. Jealousy burns in the pit of his stomach.

"No, you're not," Harry says firmly.

Louis pauses. "Pardon?"

"You're not gonna watch the other dancers."

Louis blinks in silence. "You're not in charge of me, mate."

"You're gonna watch me," Harry frowns, crossing his arms over his chest. 

He stops dead in his tracks, in the middle of the concrete path. Around them, a crowd of oblivious people play in the grass gardens. Dogs of various breeds trot along the lawns and chase after toys and flying discs.  In the center of the park, a large pond glimmers in the sunlight with scattered leaves floating over its smooth surface.  

"I thought you didn't want me to look after you," Louis rebuttals.

Harry bites his bottom lip. "I changed my mind."

A fraction of quietness passes between them. Eventually, Louis clears his throat and continues walking down the pavement. Harry follows under the umbrella, in fear of burning up and causing a scene. He clings to his bicep and squeezes his arm.

"I think you're just jealous," Louis says after a few seconds. They begin walking back to Louis's Porsche, which he left parked on the curb. His keys jingle in his hands.

"And I think you're conceited," Harry snaps back.

"You think _I'm_ conceited? You're the one who refuses to let me watch the other dancers," Louis scoffs. "You think you're better than them, yeah?"

Harry rolls his eyes. "No."

"Then why are you so stubborn, huh?"

"I'm not stubborn."

Louis laughs bitterly. "Sure, whatever."

They reach Louis's car and drive back to the cottage in complete silence.

~

Harry rubs body oil over his smooth, shaven legs. It makes his skin look glossy and sparkly, like shiny porcelain. Next to him, the other strippers lounge on the worn-out sofas and smoke fat joints, filling the room with a foul-smelling smog. Jag and Emerald scrape a pile of coke into a thin line on the nearby table. Using a rolled-up bill, Jag snorts it with one quick sniff. He blinks rapidly and rubs his nose with his knuckles.

"You alright there, mate?" Zayn asks, sitting next to Harry.

Harry frowns. "I'm great," he lies.

The truth is, he can't stop thinking about Louis. They still haven't discussed their bickering argument from the park, and he knows it's not good to leave a fight unresolved. All of these bottled-up emotions are starting to take a toll on him. He craves Louis's affection and attention, but he— he's not sure if he's ready to talk about his feelings. He can't even understand them, let alone put them into verbal words. He doesn't know if it's lust or love or infatuation, or simply a side-effect of their bond. All he knows for certain is that he craves Louis constantly, like an addictive drug.

"C'mon, I know something's wrong," Zayn persists.

He's high, obviously. His eyes are rimmed with red, and his voice has a certain bubbliness to it. He looks loopy, and his movements are fluidly smooth and languid.

"It's Louis," Harry admits with a frown. Without using a mirror, he quickly applies some glittery makeup to his eyelids. He hopes nobody notices the sloppiness.

"What? Did he spank you too hard or summat?" Zayn giggles, elbowing him in the stomach.

Harry sighs with annoyance. He wants to tell Zayn the truth— that he's not some kind of kinky masochist who gets off on pain and belittlement. He wants to confess that he's really a normal lad, with the exception of one thing. He's a vampire.

"I need to tell you something, Angel," Harry begins, swallowing hard.

"Hm?"

But Harry can't expose himself. No matter how much he hates Louis at the moment, he could never do that to him. Letting out his vampiric secret could ruin his entire life.

"Nothing," Harry huffs. "Nevermind."

Suddenly, the curtain slides open. Liam stands at the entrance impatiently, looking at all the dancers. He looks incredibly attractive, Harry thinks, with a scruffy beard and pink, plump lips. His hands are coated with countless tattoos. But despite his appearance, he's as soft as a teddy bear beneath his badass facade.

"Alright, lads. It's showtime," he announces, voice booming.

Harry takes a deep breath of courage before parting ways with Zayn. He walks out of the dressing room and approaches the main stage. As he saunters up the steps, he catches a glimpse of Louis at the bar. He's sat on a tall stool, and thanks to his short stature, his feet dangle over the floor. He slowly sips a lime margarita and licks his salt-covered lips. He wears dark clothing, causing him to blend into the club's dim surroundings.

His silver eyes are focused on the sexy, shirtless bartender. He isn't even paying attention to Harry, which makes his chest tighten with envy. Fuck. He just wants his _attention_ , is all. That's all he wants.

Suddenly, an idea pops into his head. Commence operation seduction.

He smirks and quickly scurries over to find Liam at the side of the stage. He leans down to whisper in his ear. "I wanna change my song," he murmurs quietly. "Tell the DJ to play 'Partition' by Beyoncé."

Liam looks at him curiously. "Rose, you can't change your routine at the last minute."

Harry grumbles. "Please, Liam. I'm tired of doing the same thing every night. Just trust me, okay?"

Liam ponders it for a moment or two. When Harry pouts his bottom lip adorably, he caves in. Then again, who can resist a face like that?

Harry smiles triumphantly and scurries back towards the cold, metal pole in the center of the stage. As "Partition" starts up, he grips the pole and dips his head backwards, causing his long hair to cascade in a waterfall of brunette curls. A few of the men in the crowd whistle and holler with excitement. Harry just smirks and starts rolling his hips to the sensual beat.

He grinds up against the pole and curls one leg around it, slowly sinking downwards. Out of his peripheral, he sees dirty, crumpled bills flying onto the stage. Harry sticks out his arse seductively as he swoops down to scoop up the cash. He stuffs it carelessly into his waistband.

He spots an eager man in the front row, watching him with a predatory gaze. He holds a stack of money in his paw-like hand. He has dark skin that almost looks like leather and short, buzzed hair. He wears a suit, which catches Harry off guard, because Fool's Gold is anything but classy. Regardless, he walks towards the edge of the stage and rolls his bum in front of the stranger's face, who rewards him with a playful smack.

Harry grins and turns back towards the pole, clasping his hands around it. He flips his hair out of his eyes and sways his hips back and forth. Glitter shines on his toned chest, drawing attention to his laurel tattoos.

Squinting past the burning spotlight, Harry meets Louis's eyes. His fingers grip the neck of his glass tightly. He's watching from afar with firm, pressed lips and an unreadable expression. Harry can't tell if he's turned on, angry, or both.

As if on cue, the stripper mouths out the words, "Oh he so horny, yeah he want to fuck," along with the song. Louis's throat bobs slowly. Abruptly, he hears his voice enter his brain.

 _You're such a tease_.

Harry just smirks again before ripping his gaze away. He continues his routine on the pole, making it up as he goes along. His facial expressions are seductive and needy. When he slides down the length of the pole, he makes sure to open his mouth with pleasure, mimicking a silent moan.

He continues to dance teasingly, showing off his long, endless legs and pretty hips and gorgeous bum. His body glistens with oil and glitter. The bright spotlight irritates his skin, but he keeps dancing anyway.

"Handprints and good grips all on my ass," Harry mouths silently, in sync with the loud music that blares through the club's speakers. He reaches around and grabs his bum cheeks, eliciting a few whistles from the horny men in the front row.

He makes direct eye contact with Louis from across the club. "Oh, there Daddy, Daddy, now you ripped my fur," he sings quietly. He sucks on his bottom lip as Louis watches him attentively.

Finally, the song ends. Harry smirks as the audience claps and throws money on stage. He quickly collects the cash before scampering away. The spotlight turns off and switches towards one of the smaller stages, where a boy called Desire is grinding up against a golden pole.

Harry sighs and wipes his forehead with the back of his hand. That felt like a complete rush. He didn't expect the crowd to have such a large reaction. He managed to double the amount of cash that he usually makes from his normal routine.

_I want a lap dance._

Louis's voice catches him off guard. He turns around and spots Louis in the far back of the club. He'd stepped away from the bar and found a comfortable seat made of plush cushion and soft fabric. His blue eyes stare into Harry's with icy desire.

Wordlessly, Harry approaches Louis and hops on his lap comfortably. His legs plant on either side of him, so they're chest-to-chest. He's still panting from his exhausting stage routine. Louis's gaze rakes over Harry's body, worshiping it.

_You're so beautiful._

Harry whimpers and rocks back against his half-hard cock, which presses firmly against his arse. His lips ghost over his jaw, puffing out hot bursts of air. Usually, the men at Fool's Gold call him sexy, fuckable, or slutty, but _never_ beautiful.

"Thought you came to see the other dancers," Harry teases, nipping at his earlobe.

Louis shakes his head. "No. Only want _you_ , I promise."

Harry's heart flutters with happiness. "Fuck, Lou." His hips stutter as he grinds down into Louis's firm lap. His arms loop around his neck to hold him in place.

"I'm sorry about earlier," Louis blurts out. He squeezes his plump bum for emphasis. Harry wishes his hands could stay there forever.

"Me too," Harry sighs.

"I _really_ wanna fuck you," Louis growls.

Harry gasps quietly. His eyes roll back in pleasure. _Yes_ , that's exactly what he wants, too. He wants to feel the rough grab of Louis's hands and the aching of his muscles as he rams into his wet heat. His thong suddenly feels tighter.

"We can use the back room," Harry breathes out. His bum moves erratically against Louis's hardening dick.

"No, don't wanna do it here," Louis frowns. "Want it to be special. I really like you."

Harry gulps. "I— I think I like you, too."

Louis gives a small smile. His cold hands move up and down his bare thighs. "You're lovely, Harry."

He shivers on top of him. "Well, my shift ends in three hours. Think you can keep it in your pants 'till then?"

Louis snorts at the accusation. He has some self-control. (At least, he thinks he does.)

"I'll be fine," he assures.

"Good," Harry hums.

He leans in and kisses him urgently. It's wet and messy and absolutely perfect. Harry cards his fingers through Louis's soft, feathery hair. His tongue presses against the barrier of his plump lips before licking into his mouth.

"Fuck," Louis hisses, biting down on Harry's bottom lip.

Harry _giggles_ and leans his forehead against Louis's. He gives the tip of his nose a short, sweet peck.

"I'll see you soon, Daddy," he whispers.

Louis actually jolts a little with surprise. He waits for a punchline or a quick "just kidding," but it never comes. His cock twitches in his constricting pants before Harry climbs off of his lap. He watches in a lusty daze as the stripper walks away to tend to other customers.

Louis quickly orders another drink at the bar. Whilst he sips his beer, he watches Harry give another man a sloppy lap dance across the club. In a sea of shirtless, attractive men, all he can see is his beautiful fledging. He's like a bright, sparkling diamond in a pit of dull, dirty coal.

Louis smirks and whispers into Harry's thoughts. _Be a good boy for Daddy._

He finally makes eye contact with Harry from across the club, just for a few seconds. He winks in response.

Maybe Zayn wasn't so wrong, after all. 


	15. The Release

 

Harry's shift ends at two o'clock in the morning. After he puts on some proper clothes in the dressing room, he throws his bag over his shoulder and walks through the curtain to find Louis. His skin feels sticky and oily, covered with glitter. His eyes are heavy with matted mascara and glittery makeup. His muscles ache from dancing all night, causing his leg to limp slightly as he hobbles over towards Louis.  A sense of relief washes over him when he curls an arm around his shoulder protectively. He loves being so close to him.

Throughout the night, the sexual tension between them has risen considerably, to the point where it's almost unbearable. Louis feels possessively jealous after watching Harry grind his pretty arse all over strange men. He just wants to roam his hands over Harry's skin and claim him as his own. He wants to secure their bond again, to remind Harry who's in charge.

"Ready to leave, love?" Louis inquires, raising an eyebrow.

Harry bites his lip. "Erm, yeah. Let's go."

They exit Fool's Gold through the back door, pushing past the crowd of drunk, horny men. The air reeks of sweat, and the loud music vibrates the floorboards, drumming in Harry's rattled chest. Louis keeps his hand on the small of Harry's back to guide him along. The coldness of his palm seeps through the thin fabric of his sheer shirt, making his skin feel like ice.

Outside, the air is humid. The sky is pitch black with a crescent moon, glowing with white light. Louis closes the heavy door behind him, which squeaks audibly with rusted hinges. They approach Louis's Porsche that's parked beneath a streetlamp. He presses the button on his keys to unlock the car and opens the passenger side door, allowing Harry to slip inside. He thanks him with a sweet, dimpled smile.

Louis sits behind the wheel and starts driving towards the cabin. They fall into silence, so Harry rolls down the window and listens to the wind whistling against his ears. He lets his hand flow through the warm air as they race down the empty streets. The headlights shine brightly in front of them, painting the dark roads with yellow luminescence.

"Listen," Louis says, clearing his throat. "What happened earlier was very... intense."

Harry pauses. "At Fool's Gold?"

"Yeah."

"What do you mean, exactly?"

Louis swallows the lump in his throat. "When you were, um, giving me a lapdance, we kissed. You said you wanted to have sex with me, but I— I want you to know that you don't really  _ owe  _ me anything. I know it's your  _ job  _ to rile up your customers, so—"

Harry's hand brushes over Louis's shoulder. His icy eyes flicker to him for a split second. "You're not a customer to me, Louis. I really care about you."

Louis's frown softens. "Seriously?"

"Yeah, I meant every word. I like you, and you're very special to me," he admits. "Plus, you're incredibly fit, and I wouldn't mind getting fucked by you. Actually, I'd quite enjoy it."

Louis's grip tightens on the leather-bound steering wheel. He shifts uncomfortably in his seat, wiggling. Harry can't help but notice the slight bulge in his crotch, tenting up his skinny jeans. He smirks with pride. His mouth waters a little, and he wishes he could lean over and blow Louis right now, but he figures they should wait a while until they try road head. He doesn't want to scare him off with his odd kinks.

"I just want to make sure it's not our bond that's influencing you," Louis says hesitantly. "I couldn't take advantage of you like that. I need to know that you  _ really  _ want this."

"I do," Harry assures, hand floating down to Louis's lap. "I wanna fuck because you're sweet and charming and sexy, not 'cause we have some sort of psychological connection."

For emphasis, he squeezes Louis's hardening cock through his jeans. Louis flinches and gasps quietly, causing the car to swerve a bit. He recollects himself and shoots Harry a sharp glare.

"Babe, please," he begs. "I don't wanna get into an accident."

Harry hums and removes his hand. "Fine. But I wanna blow you when we get back home."

Louis swears under his breath. He could never refuse that offer. Harry's plush, pink lips were practically crafted by angels. He thinks about fucking his wet, abused mouth, and suddenly his jeans feel even tighter. He wants to pull on Harry's long curls as his tongue twirls around his dick.

"You're gonna be the death of me, Harry Styles," Louis breathes out.

Harry giggles adorably. "What'd I do wrong, Daddy?" he asks, eyelashes fluttering.

Louis nearly chokes on his own tongue. Okay, driving is becoming increasingly more difficult. He's probably speeding over the limit, but he's too horny to care.

"You were teasing me  _ all  _ night," Louis growls. "I had to sit back and watch you touch all those gross men and show off your arse to them. It was torturous."

Harry flushes. "It's my job."

"I know," Louis exhales. Keeping on hand on the wheel, he squeezes Harry's thigh. His frigid palm slowly creeps up his leg, stopping near his hip. "But  _ I'm  _ the only one who gets to fuck you, yeah?"

Harry shifts uncomfortably in his seat.  _ Christ _ , he's so desperate. He can't remember the last time he had a proper shag. It must've been nearly an entire month. He craves the thick, hot slide of Louis's cock, filling him up to the brim. He imagines Louis hovering over him as he pounds into his arse, splitting him open.

Harry whines deep in his throat. "Need you," he chokes out.

The corners of Louis's mouth quirk up in a smug smile. "Yeah, me too, baby. We're almost home. Good boys are patient, remember?"

Harry breathes in sharply. "Yeah, fuck. Wanna be good for you."

"You are, baby. You're always  _ so  _ good."

Harry's chest rises up and down rapidly. "Now  _ you're  _ the one who's teasing," he grumbles.

"Revenge is sweet. Just like you, baby."

Harry whimpers and turns back towards the window. The breeze cools him down, reassures him that everything will be okay. Louis cares about him. He truly does. Harry can sense it every time they touch, kiss, and cuddle. He can sense it when they look into each other's eyes, and Louis's blue irises light up with a silver glimmer of concern. Having a bond brought them closer together as a unit. Harry knows it's only temporary, and the effects will wear off when he grows out of his fledgling phase, but he loves it.

As it turns out, commitment isn't a weakness. It's a strength.

He becomes lost in his headspace, so he doesn't even notice when Louis pulls into the cabin's long, twisting driveway. He doesn't hear the crunch of pebbles beneath their tires or the snapping of loose sticks. He doesn't see the green trees that form around them, providing shade and a canopy of leaves.  All he notices is hot, burning desire.

"We're home, love," Louis says softly, switching off the engine.

Harry breaks out of his trance. He slowly climbs out of the car and tries not to trip in the darkness. The small lights in Louis's garden light up the stone pathway that leads to the front porch. Louis follows closely behind like a shadow.

Louis tries to unlock the front door, but then Harry's arms curl around his waist, and his lips start kissing all over his neck. It's quite distracting. Harry's breath feels like cold air from a freezer, causing goosebumps to pepper his pale skin. Louis hums with appreciation when Harry kisses his cheek sweetly, leaving his lips to linger longer than necessary.

"Enough of that," Louis tsks.

He pulls away and wraps his hand around Harry's wrist, guiding him inside. The cottage feels significantly cooler and provides some relief from the humidity. Harry lets his duffle bag fall to the floor, deciding to unpack it later. When Louis shuts the front door with his foot, Harry cups his face and pushes him back up against it. His stubble feels scratchy and rough in his hands.

He kisses him roughly, urgently, with his tongue sweeping into his mouth. He licks over his sharp fangs, eliciting a loud moan from Louis. His hands flutter down towards Harry's pudgy hips, where he grips his love handles, digging his dull nails into his flesh. The heated snog becomes more intense when Louis squeezes Harry's bum, tugging him closer. He ruts his hardening cock up against his thigh.  

"Lou," Harry gasps quietly, breaking the kiss. His bitten lips shimmer with saliva. "Wanna suck you off."

Louis's head thumps back against the door. "Fuck, yeah. Can we— bedroom?"

Harry nods wordlessly. Still kissing, they blindly maneuver into Louis's room. Harry kicks off his leather boots along the way, so he can feel the soft squish of carpet beneath his feet. Louis leads the way until the back of Harry's knees hit the edge of the bed. He presses his flat hand into his chest and lowers him into the mattress. It's such a sweet, gentle gesture that has Harry's head spinning.

Louis's fingers ghost over the button of his black jeans, but then he stops. "Are you sure you wanna do this, babe? I won't be disappointed if you need to stop."

Harry shakes his head, curls bouncing. "I'm positive."

Louis gives him a chaste kiss before unzipping his jeans. He shimmies out of them quickly, letting the dark denim pool around his ankles. He kicks them aside. Harry's green eyes fall to his black, skin-tight briefs, which make his cock look even bigger. He licks his lips hungrily, and Louis hurriedly removes his t-shirt. Harry's gaze rakes over his chest, admiring his tattoos and faint chest hair.

"What are you looking at?" Louis chuckles.

Harry glances up shyly. "You."

"You're quite strange, love."

Harry shakes his head, laughing. "You stared at me all night, when I was wearing nothing but a golden thong. Now it's my turn."

Louis cracks a small smile. Harry just reaches forward and tugs down on the elastic waistband of his pants. He pushes them down until Louis steps out of them, leaving him completely naked. His hard cock is thick against his stomach, leaking with pre-cum. It almost looks painful.

Silently, Harry licks his palm and wraps it around Louis's length. His knees buckle a little when he starts moving his fist up and down. Louis tugs on his hair, whimpering.

"Wait, H-Harry. I can't do this whilst standing up," he chuckles. "You're gonna make me collapse like this."

Harry snickers as Louis climbs into the messy, unmade bed. The white sheets feel soft and smooth. He lays down with his head on his feather-filled pillow, spreading his legs slightly so Harry can settle between them. He does, of course, and starts stroking Louis's cock again. Louis's eyes roll back in pleasure as he bucks up into his fist.

"Fuck," he seethes. "You're so good, baby. My perfect little fledgling."

Harry preens at the compliment and lowers his lips to the head of his cock. He sucks on the tip for a few seconds, teasing him. His tongue flicks over his slit as his hand works the rest of the base. Then, he opens his mouth wide and sinks down, swallowing around his length. He chokes a little when he hits the back of his throat, but he doesn't pull off. He hollows his cheeks and keeps his jaw slack. He starts bobbing up and down, pressing his tongue flat against his cock.

"Oh, I— fuck, yeah. Just like that, baby," Louis hisses, toes curling in ecstasy. He looks down with admiration as Harry's messy, wild curls bob up and down between his legs. It's a beautiful sight.

Harry sucks him like a lollipop, slowly licking up his length before releasing him with an audible  _ pop _ . He takes a sharp breath before swallowing him again, guiding him back into his mouth with his gentle hands. He loves the pressure of his thick dick stretching out his mouth. He focuses on Louis's reactions until he gets a better understanding of what he likes, dislikes, and loves.  His hand reaches down to cup his balls.

Louis makes shallow thrusts up into his mouth, lifting his bum off of the bed. His hands grip the sheets until his knuckles turn white. It feels  _ so  _ good, like nothing he's ever felt before. He's had countless blowjobs in his two hundred and twenty-six years of living, but it's never been like this. It's never been so intense and blindly pleasureable.

Harry starts bobbing up and down quickly, slurping and sucking like his life depends upon it. He feels like he can barely breathe, like Louis's cock might take away his supply of oxygen, but he doesn't stop. He doesn't know if he  _ can  _ stop. He's getting off on this just as much as Louis.

"Wait, darling," Louis chokes out, yanking up on Harry's hair.

He pulls off of his cock, and the sight of his face takes Louis's breath away. His lips are glossy with spit, and his cheeks are flushed bright red. His eyes glimmer with burning tears, but Louis knows it's not from sadness. It's from suppressing his gag reflex.

"Did I do somethin' wrong?" Harry worries.

Louis hushes him, brushes his thumb over his jaw softly. "No, love. I just— don't wanna come like this.  Wanna fuck you and make you feel good."

Harry gulps. Yeah, he wants that, too.

"Take off your clothes, baby. Daddy's gonna open you up with his fingers, okay?"

The stripper sucks in a deep breath before clumsily standing up from the bed. His knees wobble with nervousness as he peels off his jeans and unbuttons his blouse. He doesn't know why he feels so on edge. After all, Louis has seen him pole dance in nothing but a thong. But for some reason, this feels  _ different _ . More intimate, perhaps.

He hesitates before pulling off his pink, polka-dotted briefs. Louis gives him a once-over when he removes them, leaving his erection fully exposed. His cock isn't as thick as Louis's, but it's longer, curving up against his stomach beautifully.

"So pretty, baby," Louis muses. He pats the bed in front of him. "Get on your hands and knees, now."

Harry nods feverishly before planting on the mattress again. His arms ache slightly as he gets in the position. He feels Louis settle behind him, hand smoothing over his naked arse. He kneads into his bum to tease him. Harry's head drops low as he stares into the tangled bedsheets, tries to focus on breathing.  _ Inhale, exhale, repeat _ .

"Such a nice arse," Louis huffs out, cold breath tickling him.

He parts his bum cheeks to reveal his tight, pink hole. Without any warning, he leans in and licks a large, wet stripe over his entrance. His tongue feels as cold as ice, and his sharp fangs scrape over his sensitive skin.

"Shit," Harry gasps, clenching around Louis's tongue as he licks into him.

He pulls back in an instant, much to Harry's dismay. "Good boys don't swear."

"Sorry, Daddy."

Louis hums as he shuffles over to his bedside table. He rips open the drawer and pulls out a tube of dwindling lube and a condom. Then, he returns to Harry's arse and uncaps the lubricant. Harry shivers when he spreads a liberal amount onto his fingers. Even though Louis likes being rough, this is their first time, and he wants to prep him properly.

"Daddy's gonna stretch you out now, okay?"

Harry nods silently, unable to say anything else.

His cold, wet index finger prods against his clenching muscle. He wiggles the tip inside slowly, in fear of harming him. When Harry's shoulders start to relax, he slips it in entirely, up to the knuckle. Harry bites down on his bottom lip and pushes back eagerly. God, his fingers feel slick and absolutely amazing. The burning stretch of penetration makes his cock stiffen painfully.

"You alright?" Louis hesitates. His second finger pauses at his entrance.

Harry's breath shivers. "Yes. 's good, Daddy. I promise."

So Louis adds a second finger, sliding it inside along the first. He slowly starts to scissor him open, watching as his hole clenches around his fingers rhythmically. He spreads his fingers wide before bringing them back together. When he curls them at an angle, Harry jolts and collapses down onto his forearms, unable to support his weight.

"Oh— Louis! There, again. Right there, Daddy."

Louis growls animalistically before aiming for the same spot. He rubs against his prostate until Harry is practically sobbing with satisfaction, rocking back against his thrusts. His mouth hangs open as he lets out soft, breathy pants.

"I'm ready," Harry blurts out. "Please, Lou.  Please fuck me."

Louis gulps as he pulls out his fingers. He presses a reassuring kiss to his puffy hole. "I've got you, love. Lay down on your back for me, okay? I wanna see your pretty face."

Harry whimpers before he lays back down comfortably. Louis fetches the condom, tears it open, and rolls the disc over his cock, leaving slack at the tip. Harry watches with wide, glossy eyes. In a matter of seconds, Louis hovers above him, sweating and panting. He kisses Harry passionately for what seems like the first time in ages. Harry whines into the heated snog and curls his arms around to his back. He scratches up his skin and feels the ridges of his spine.

Louis breaks the kiss and leans back on his heels. He grabs the lube again and slicks up his cock, groaning as his hand moves up and down his length. He throws the tube aside carelessly before lining up with Harry's entrance. The stripper bends his knees and plants his feet on the bed to give Louis better access. Louis looms over him and presses a kiss to the side of his neck, where his fangs once sunk into his flesh. He can still see the scar that blemishes his skin.

"You're so beautiful, Harry," Louis says breathlessly.

Harry blushes and bites his bottom lip with his fangs. "Thank you."

The head of Louis's cock catches on his rim. Harry inhales deeply and gives Louis a short nod of confirmation. So the older lad pushes in further, feeling the warm stretch of heat that surrounds his dick. He stops halfway when Harry tenses around him, whimpering. He wraps his legs around Louis's waist and squeezes.

"Slow," Harry whispers.

Louis mutters out an apology. He gives him a few moments to adjust to the intrusion. To distract him from the pain, Louis kisses along his neck softly. He can smell the floral perfume that still lingers on his skin. His body glistens with oil and glitter from the club.

"You good?" Louis croaks.

"Yeah, 'm brilliant."

With that, Louis thrusts forward and bottoms out. Harry's long, milky legs snake further down his waist, digging his heels into his back to urge him further. He groans as Louis's thick cock stretches him out even more. He sees fireworks bursting behind his eyelids.

He starts with slow, shallow thrusts. Louis moans in pleasure as Harry's wet, tight body surrounds him with friction. He huffs out hot breaths into the crook of Harry's neck. Eventually, he increases his pace and starts hammering into him, moving his hips rapidly.

"Louis!" Harry screams out, biting his nails into his shoulders.

The bed rams against the wall, headboard rocking. Harry lets out sweet, squeaky whines every time Louis hits his prostate. Even though they're both cold and lifeless, Harry feels like he's on fire, as if he's drowning in a pool of heat. The burn feels incredible, almost indescribable. His lashes become matted with tears.

"You feel amazing, H," Louis compliments. "My pretty fledgling.  You make me so happy."

Harry whimpers and rocks down to meet his thrusts halfway. He feels like he's being broken apart in the best way possible. The tightness in his lower abdomen travels to his cock, making his erection ache for release.

"I love your cock, Daddy," Harry says filthily, scraping down Louis's back. His curls bounce up and down with each thrust. "Fucking me so good."

Louis's jaw tightens as he pounds into the younger boy, practically bending him in half. Harry cries out and tightens around his length. It's almost  _ too  _ much, but it's not enough at the same time. He never wants this feeling to end.

Having sex with Louis feels different than his previous sexual encounters. It's like an overwhelming emotion of relief. He's been craving this for so long, and it's finally a reality. It seems as though their bond is unbreakable now. Harry hopes it'll never fade away.

" 'm close," Harry shudders, reaching between their stomachs. He starts jerking off in sync with Louis's thrusts.

"Come for me, baby," Louis commands. "You make Daddy so proud."

Harry's toes curl as he comes, spurting between their stomachs. His eyes flutter shut as his mind chants an endless stream of  _ Louis, Louis, Louis.  _ He grips the sheets and lets his mouth gape open. His entire body squirms with sensitivity.

Louis fucks him through his orgasm and moans loudly when he clenches around him. He thrusts forward a few more times until he finally lets go, screaming out Harry's name. He empties his load into the condom and bites down on Harry's neck. It's nothing too serious, and his fangs don't even pierce through his skin, but it makes Harry gasp and flinch. But it's a  _ good  _ flinch.

Louis's arms give out, and he collapses on top of him. Harry whines when he feels Louis's softening cock inside of him. His cold, pale lips press soft kisses into his chest. They both struggle to catch their breath.

After a while, Harry starts stroking up and down Louis's back. It's a soothing gesture. Louis sighs happily against his chest, where his living heart used to beat. He gathers up enough strength to pull out, which causes Harry to whine from the sudden emptiness. Louis hushes him before peeling off the condom. He reaches over and tosses it in the nearby bin.

"I'll go get a flannel to clean you up, love," Louis says, noticing the drying come that clings to Harry's tummy.

He kisses Harry's forehead and scampers off to his bathroom. He retrieves a damp cloth and waddles back to the bed, where Harry is spread out like a starfish. He looks completely fucked-out with flushed cheeks, swollen lips, and trembling thighs.

Louis swipes the wet cloth over his belly and wipes the inside of his thighs. Harry hums with appreciation. He still looks rather loopy, lost in the post-sex haze. Louis just pulls him into his grasp and wraps his arms around his cold, lifeless body. He strokes his silky hair and tries to bring him back to reality again.

"You okay, baby?"

Harry smiles fondly. "I'm great.  _ You  _ were great."

Louis lets out a sigh of relief. "Okay."

They settle into a brief, comfortable silence. Louis traces random patterns onto Harry's back whilst he tries to recollect his thoughts. He considers putting his clothes back on, but he prefers sleeping naked, anyway.

Louis kisses his temple. He wants to tell Harry how much he means to him, so he says, "You're the best b—"

He stops himself. No, they're not  _ boyfriends _ . They've never even put a label on their complicated relationship. Perhaps they should've established it before they had sex, in retrospect.

"Hm?" Harry murmurs, wondering why he cut himself off.

Louis frowns. "I— um, nothing. You're the best bond ever, 's all."

Harry flushes with pride. "Oh, thanks."

Louis knows they'll need to discuss their relationship later. They need to make sure they're on the same page, before one of them ends up hurt. But knowing Harry's fear of commitment, he has an inkling of an idea that their feelings aren't mutual. Maybe Louis's the only one who wants something  _ more _ than a vampiric bond.

But Louis doesn't want to talk about that now. Instead, he holds Harry tighter and hopes that everything will be alright.


	16. The Boundaries

"Forgot how much I love that," Harry muses, whispering sweet words into Louis's cold chest.

"Love what?" he presses.

His arms are tight and secure around Harry's slim waist. The air smells like sex, sweat, and uncertainty. Louis can barely see Harry's facial features, illuminated with the white moonlight that streams in from the nearby window. He looks angelic, with a sparkle in his pretty green irises.

Harry bites his lip shyly. "Having someone... take control, I guess." When Louis gives him a confused look, he clarifies, "I'm a stripper, so if I ever get laid, I'm usually the one doing all the work. Customers always expect me to because it's my _job_ , but I— I like feeling taken care of."

Louis understands. He likes taking care of Harry, too. It gives him a sense of fulfillment and accomplishment. Harry is his fledgling, after all, and he needs to look after him. He needs to take over sometimes and be the one in charge.

He presses a soft kiss to his forehead. "Well, if you're so eager, we could do it again."

Harry giggles into his neck. He looks up with dimpled cheeks and glowing eyes. "I need to relax, old man. You wore me out."

"Old man?" Louis repeats, offended. His mouth gapes open.

"You're two hundred and twenty-six years old," Harry grumbles. "It feels like I just had sex with my great, great, great, great grandfather."

"I'm not your grandfather," Louis huffs, squeezing his hips firmly. "I'm your daddy."

Harry whimpers quietly, squirming. Louis feels his thighs press against him, nice and smooth and freshly-shaven. He wants to lick his endless legs and speckle them with bites. He wants to do _everything_ with Harry. They have all the time that the word has to offer, indefinitely.

"Gonna make me hard again," Harry complains.

Louis smirks. The effect he has on Harry is incredible. He can't wait to rile him up in the most inappropriate places, now that he knows his weakness.

"Yeah? Does it turn you on when Daddy claims you?"

Harry gulps, subtly rutting his cóck against Louis's hip. His eyes flutter delicately, like butterfly wings. "Fuck, Daddy. Yeah," he exhales.

Louis's nails bite into his waist and pull him closer, skin-to-skin. "Good boys don't use bad language, Harry."

He whines and bites down on his bottom lip. His fangs look sharper and longer now, Louis notes, which fills him with pride. They're shiny and white and _perfect_. His messy, brunette curls are splayed over the white sheets, contrasting beautifully. His pale skin feels as cold as ice.

"Want Daddy to spank you?" Louis inquires. "Want Daddy to take you over his knee and smack your pretty arse until it's pink?"

Harry gasps and thrusts forward, grinding up against Louis. The eldest can feel his erection pressing up against his hip. It's firm and needy and desperate. Louis reaches down and squeezes his perky bum, kneading his cheeks into his palms.

"But you'd enjoy that too much, wouldn't you?" Louis taunts. His voice is dripping with unbreakable confidence.

Harry doesn't reply. He just starts humping Louis's leg like a horny teenager, clinging to his shoulders, as if he might drown if he lets go. His breath hitches. He's never been so needy and dependant on another person. It's a strange sensation, and he doesn't know whether or not he should feel excited or scared.

"Enough," Louis commands, nudging him away. Harry's mouth falls open as Louis creates a gap between them. Harry looks up desperately, pleading, begging. His cóck is swollen and red now, aching for friction, but Louis won't give it to him.

(At least, not yet.)

"Go take a shower," Louis orders.

Harry whimpers pathetically. "But—"

"Don't make me repeat myself," Louis warns.

Harry's shoulders slump. He ignores his painful erection as he stands up from the bed. His thighs tremble and his leg limps as he wobbles towards the bathroom. Louis watches his arse sway back and forth, giving his naked body a quick once-over.

"Oh, and don't even _think_ about touching yourself when you're in the shower," Louis reminds, causing Harry to pause in the doorway. "Don't forget, I can enter your thoughts, love."

Harry flushes before he shuts the door. He immediately stands in front of the mirror to recollect his jumbled thoughts. He stares at his lack of reflection and can only imagine how blushed his cheeks must appear. _Holy shit._ He's never been this horny in his entire life. Curse Louis Tomlinson and his flirtatious, sexy, manipulative ways.

Sighing, the stripper pulls open the shower door and twists the knob towards the red 'H.' Whilst he waits for it to heat up, he uses Louis's minty mouthwash to freshen his breath. He tastes like salty cum, regret, and guilt.

When the air starts to steam up, Harry steps into the wet, hot shower. The prickling on his icy skin reminds him that he's capable of _feeling_ , despite his vampire capabilities. It's a reassurance that part of him is still alive.

As he's standing there in silence, a sudden feeling of loneliness seeps into his stomach. It hits him like a drug withdrawal. He craves Louis's attention again wants to feel his warm embrace. He wants to kiss his pale, chapped lips and feel the sharp sting of his fangs scraping over his neck.

He whimpers and presses his forehead against the shower wall. He sighs at length and takes a deep inhale, tries to focus on breathing.

_Want me to join you?_

Harry jolts slightly in surprise. Louis's voice cutting into his thoughts never fails to catch him off guard. He stares down at the shower drain and watches the water swirl around.

"Yes," he whispers, barely audible.

A few seconds later, the bathroom door opens, and Louis steps into the shower. It's cramped, but it's lovely, and they make out as the glass walls fog up with condensation. Louis curls his fingers through Harry's wet, dripping hair and pushes him up against the tiled wall.

"Don't ever feel lonely," Louis murmurs, touching their foreheads together. He presses his hand flat against his chest, over his heart. "I'm always right here, baby."

Harry realizes that he must've read his gloomy, lonesome thoughts. Louis cares about him _so_ much. It's overwhelming, but not in a bad way— it's just _different_. He loves that he can always rely on Louis to make him feel better, no matter what.

"I think we need to talk," Louis says quietly.

Hot water pours around them, drenching them completely. The air smells like floral shampoo and clean-scented soap. The floors are slippery and wet, despite the yellow mat that covers the bottom of the shower. And even though they're both completely naked, all Louis can think about is Harry's feelings and emotional well-being.

Harry loves that about him.

"Later," Harry murmurs against his lips.

Louis nods slowly. "Alright."

Harry lets him wash his hair, and he glows the entire time, purring like a kitten. Louis peppers him with soapy kisses until the water runs cold.

~

Later that afternoon, Louis and Harry lounge around in Louis's extravagant office. Whilst the blue-eyed man types away at his laptop, writing a report about drosophila genetics, Harry sits in the corner and watches him fondly. He loves Louis's passion for science and medicine. He could spend hours and hours talking about chemical reactions, and Harry would just listen and nod along as if he understood.

A variety of taxidermy animals decorate the walls and wooden shelves, from a horned owl to small mice. Their glass eyes watch over them as Louis works tirelessly, fingers skimming over the black keys. Harry chews on the inside of his cheek and examines one of his feather pens. It's soft and smooth and has a sharp, metal tip with dried ink. His feet are perched up on Louis's desk, invading his workspace, but he doesn't seem to mind.

"Do you have to work again tonight?" Louis suddenly speaks up, but his eyes never leave his screen.

Harry nods. "Yeah."

"I can give you a ride to the club, if you'd like."

Harry hesitates. "I don't wanna disrupt your work. I can just ask Zayn or summat."

Louis hums. "Why don't you drive yourself, then? I mean, don't you have your license?"

"Of course I do. I just can't afford a car."

Louis chuckles. "Well, money isn't a problem, H."

Harry raises an eyebrow suspiciously. "What are you implying?"

"I can buy you a car. I reckon you're an Audi man, yeah? Maybe a Mustang?"

Harry gulps. "I don't need your money."

He waves his hand dismissively.  "I _like_ taking care of you, H. Buying you a car would make both of our lives easier."

"Well, if it's really a big deal, I'll just move back to my flat and start walking to the club again."

Louis laughs softly, eyes flickering over his glowing laptop screen. "Yeah, that worked out _great_ last time," he muses with sarcasm.

Harry's hands tighten with anger. "I don't want your money."

Louis looks up curiously. "Why not? I'm a millionaire, love."

"Because I'm capable of taking care of myself," Harry grumbles. "And frankly, I wouldn't care if you had a billion pounds. I'm not letting you buy me a bloody car."

Louis huffs softly. "Alright. I'm just trying to help."

Harry frowns sympathetically. He scoots closer to his desk and places his hand over Louis's, preventing him from typing. Louis glances up and meets Harry's apologetic gaze.

"I appreciate everything you've done for me," Harry assures, "but I can still do things on my own, y'know."

Louis swallows hard. "I can't help but feel guilty, Harry. This is my way to compensate. I'm the one who caused this mess, after all."

"Hey, it's alright. You can't undo the past," Harry murmurs. "I know you're sorry."

"I am. I _really_ am."

"I know, Louis."

"I shouldn't have ever made assumptions about you," Louis says quietly. "You're not worthless, H. You're one of the most amazing people I've _ever_ met."

Harry stays silent, unsure of how to respond. He just rubs his thumb over the back of his hand and hopes his gentle touch will communicate his thoughts.  

"Do you wanna come to Fool's Gold later?" Harry prompts, changing the subject. "Tonight is fem night."

Louis cocks an eyebrow. "Fem night?"

Harry smirks. "Every now and then, Liam has us dress up in feminine clothes. Y'know, fishnet tights, high heels, skirts, lipstick. It's just a way to switch things up from the everyday routine."

Louis's breath catches in his throat. He tries his best not to imagine Harry wearing women's lingerie, snaking up and down that golden pole, smacking his red lips. _Christ_. His legs would look absolutely beautiful in black tights.

"As tempting as that sounds, I should probably run a few errands. I'll drop you off at the club, though. It's actually on the way."

Harry slumps back with disappointment. "Oh."

"Don't pout, baby."

"I'm not pouting. I just wanted you to see me all dressed up."

Louis's eyes rake up and down Harry's body. Currently, he's wearing some black skinny jeans and a loose, button-down blouse. He can still see the fading bite marks and swollen bruises that decorate his neck and collarbones.  His skin is a pale, blank canvas, just begging to be painted upon.

"But you _always_ look beautiful, no matter what you wear," Louis retorts. "Besides, maybe you can give me a private show later, yeah?"

Harry blushes a little. "Yeah, maybe."

Louis clears his throat and pats Harry's thigh lightly. "Anyway, babe, I was wondering if we could talk about _us_."

Harry gulps with nervousness. "Us?"

"Yeah, about our relationship," Louis says, shutting his laptop to give Harry his undivided attention. "We haven't really talked about _labels_."

Harry squirms uncomfortably in his seat. Labels have boundaries, and he doesn't like boundaries. That's why he ran away from home in the first place. He doesn't understand why everything has to have a pristine definition.

"We had sex, Louis. I dunno what else there is to talk about."

He tilts his head apprehensively. "You have feelings for me, babe. You said so yourself."

"So what?" Harry sighs loudly. "I told you before: I don't like commitment. I never have, and I never will. Monogamy is completely unrealistic for my lifestyle."

Louis frowns, but tries to hide his disappointment. "Okay. So we're not boyfriends?"

"No, we're not."

"Then what are we?"

"I dunno."

Louis crosses his arms over his chest. "We're both consenting adults, Harry. I think we can handle this conversation with maturity, yes?"

"I'm _trying_ ," Harry drawls out. "It's just... difficult."

Louis nods understandingly. They fall silent for a few seconds. Harry mindlessly fiddles with the silver rings on his fingers, and Louis just stares at his desk, gazing over the sea of scattered papers and dull pencils.

"We're bond-friends," Harry says after a minute or so.

Louis falters. "Bond-friends?"

"Yeah, kinda like boyfriends, except it's... not as exclusive, I guess. And we have a bond."

Louis doesn't like the idea of being in an open relationship. He can't bare the thought of Harry touching other men, kissing other men, fucking other men. It makes his brain burn with jealousy and possessiveness. His heart aches with rejection. Harry's lifestyle is supposed to be wild and crazy, not tied down to one person, and perhaps he should've predicted this.

But that doesn't make it hurt any less.

"Okay," Louis says eventually, voice gone quiet.

Harry smiles and pecks his lips, but it doesn't feel warm anymore. Kissing Harry no longer brings him flames of excitement and bursts of energy. It's as cold as the blood that runs through their dead, vampiric veins.

"Bond-friends," Harry giggles against his lips.

Louis just laughs and mumbles something about needing to finish his research report. And when Harry leaves his office to give him some privacy, he breaks down in tears.

But nobody has to know.


	17. The Doubts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please give feedback! I'd really appreciate it, my loves! I hope you enjoy the chapter.

Harry briefly pauses in the doorway of Louis's office, all pigeon-toed and timid. He clears his throat awkwardly. "Erm, Lou?"

The older man looks up from his laptop. His bright irises are hidden behind a pair of glasses, which teeter at the end of his nose. The dim, yellow light glowing from the nearby lamp hollows out his cheekbones. He has a stern and emotionless look on his face. For a second, Harry thinks he sees tears glistening in his eyes, but he decides not to mention it.

"Yes?" Louis asks, voice soft.

Harry gulps. He feels intimidated by Louis at times like this. He gives off an aura of dominance and unbreakable superiority. His shoulders are broad and sturdy, and his scruff makes him appear even sexier and rougher. As his hands still over his keyboard, he raises an eyebrow, urging Harry to continue.

"I was, um, wondering if you could help me with something," he asks shyly.

"And what would that be?"

Harry bites his lip. "I need to get ready for the club, but I can't exactly see myself in the mirror. Would you mind putting on my makeup for me?"

Louis intakes a sharp breath of surprise. Harry looks incredibly beautiful with his natural skin, let alone with makeup to accentuate his features. He imagines his pretty eyes with long, black lashes. He'd be gorgeous with blushed cheeks and ruby, red lips.

"I mean," Harry coughs, "as long as you feel comfortable."

Louis lets out a short, breathy laugh. "One of my ex-wives used to be Marilyn Monroe's makeup artist. I think I can handle this."

Harry cracks a small smile. "Really?"

"Yeah, really. Her name was Lucy," Louis recalls, carding through his memory.

"That's a pretty name," Harry muses.

Louis hums with acknowledgement. He shuts his laptop and pats the chair in front of him, beckoning Harry to sit down. The young stripper gently takes a seat and unzips his makeup bag. Inside, various containers of lipstick, blush, concealer, glitter, and mascara lay in a messy pile. Louis stays silent as he picks up a golden tube of red lipstick. He uncaps it with an audible _pop_ , then twists it.

"Tell me about your ex-wives," Harry says quietly.

Louis laughs awkwardly. "There's not much to discuss, love."

"You said you were married multiple times," Harry points out.

"I was."

"So, what were they like?"

Louis sighs, staring down at the lipstick to avoid eye contact. "Well, my first wife was called Marie. We met in Berlin and got married after three weeks."

Harry's eyes widen. "Three _weeks_?"

"Yeah, things were different back then," he chuckles dryly.

"Was she pretty?"

Louis's lips press into a frown. "I don't really remember," he admits with a shrug.

"How can you _not_ remember?" Harry scoffs. "You were married."

"Yes, but— it's not important. Why do you care so much, H?"

Harry blinks in surprise. "I dunno. I guess I'm just... curious."

"Well, if you don't mind, I'd like to drop the subject," Louis grumbles.

"Why?"

"Because all of my marriages were miserable, darling. I was a closeted gay man who married women in order to blend into society. It was terrible. Is that what you wanted to hear?"

Harry feels guilt sink into the pit of his stomach. He never meant to make Louis angry. Sometimes, he forgets how privileged his life is. When he came out to his family, they accepted him immediately. None of his mates had a problem with his sexuality, either. But he knows others don't have it so easy.

"I'm sorry," he chokes out. "I shouldn't have asked. It's your private life."

Louis hesitates. "No," he huffs, running a tired hand down his face. "I'm sorry for snapping. It's just a difficult subject to talk about."

Harry nods silently. He waits a few seconds before saying, "For the record, I think you're very brave."

"Brave? I was a coward, Harry."

"No, you weren't."

"But my marriages were shams. I pretended to love these poor, innocent women, and then I left them."

Harry opens his mouth to speak, but Louis interrupts. "Can we just stop talking about it, please?" he begs. "I don't really want to get into this right now. I have a lot on my mind."

Harry sinks back into his chair, nodding. A few seconds of tense quietness settles between them as Louis picks up the lipstick again. Harry puckers his lips, allowing Louis to drag the red stick along them, coating them with dark color. Harry smacks them together and looks up hesitantly.

"How does it look?"

Louis swallows the lump in his throat. "Lovely."

Harry blushes faintly as Louis grabs the tube of mascara. He flicks the bristled brush over his lashes, making them look fuller, longer, and darker. Harry notices his tongue bitten between his fangs with deep concentration. He moves onto his other eye, and Harry just sits patiently, afraid of upsetting Louis again.

"You're so pretty," he exhales.

Harry dimples. "Thanks."

Louis fetches the large makeup brush and mixes it into the palette of pale powdered foundation. He dusts it over his cheeks, nose, and forehead, making his face appear smooth and even. Louis stops breathing for a moment or two. Harry Styles _literally_ takes his breath away. His beauty is capable of holding him hostage and killing him slowly.

"Do I look okay?" Harry asks worriedly.

Louis smiles faintly. Instead of giving a verbal response, he leans in and presses a soft kiss to his cheek, leaving his lips to linger.

"Thank you for helping me," Harry murmurs.

"You're welcome."

"Now, I just have to get dressed. Can we leave in about twenty minutes?"

Louis smirks. "Sure. Can I help you change into your sexy outfit, too?"

Harry snickers and smacks his arm playfully. "I think I can handle that by myself."

Louis winks flirtatiously. "Alright. Let me know if you need anything, Rose."

Harry just snorts as he gathers his makeup bag. He leaves his office with a faint blush on his cheeks, completely flustered.

~

"Holy shit."

Harry chuckles awkwardly. He just stepped out of the bathroom, wearing a frilly, black skirt and fishnet tights. He has a tight corset wrapped around his torso, giving himself the illusion of a bust. He wears a pair of dark stilettos that make him tower above Louis. They clack against the wooden floors as he approaches the older man, hands folded in front of him.

"You like it?" Harry teases, swaying his hips back and forth, so the skirt ruffles.

"You look incredible," Louis gawks, curling his arms around Harry's waist. He lightly kisses the tip of his nose. Harry just giggles and turns his face, trying to hide his blush.

"Lou, please," he begs, whimpering. "We're gonna be late."

"Alright," Louis sighs. He fetches his keys off of the hook in the wall. "Why aren't you changing at the club, anyway? Don't they have a dressing room?"

"Too many mirrors. Didn't wanna risk it." He smirks. "Besides, I wanted to show you my pretty outfit. Figured it'd convince you to come with."

Louis tilts his head a little. "I told you, darling. I have errands to run."

Harry gives a grunt of disapproval. "But that's not fair, _Daddy_ ," he purrs. Louis feels a jolt of arousal in his stomach. "I got all dressed up."

The eldest boy frowns. He doesn't understand Harry's thought process. He said that they weren't exclusive, that they're just bond-friends, and yet he's disappointed that Louis can't watch him dance. As if he only dressed up for his viewing pleasure. As if he only cares about Louis's approval, not anybody else's. It makes his head spin in confused circles.

"Right," Louis clears his throat. "Let's go."

Harry frowns a little. He opens his mouth to say something, but then Louis turns around on his heel and exits through the front door. Harry sighs and follows closely behind, arms crossed over his chest like a tempered child.

He just wants Louis's _attention_. He needs a reaction out of him. He doesn't care if it's good or bad, but he can't stand Louis blatantly ignoring him. Anger surges through his veins as they climb into Louis's car without exchanging a single word. As he starts up the engine, Harry slumps back in the leather seat and taps mindlessly at his phone. He texts Zayn and tells him that he's on his way to the club.

As they roll out of Louis's gravel driveway, beneath a canopy of dark trees, Louis steals a glance at Harry's phone in his lap. His eyebrows crease together as his long fingers dance across the glowing screen. His nails are painted a pretty shade of pink.

"Who's texting you?" he asks curiously.

Harry's jaw tightens. "A guy."

"Who?"

"Someone from Fool's Gold," he says vaguely, hoping Louis will assume it's a customer. He craves a reaction from him, whether it's frustration, jealousy, or lust. He doesn't care. He just needs _something_. Something to prove that he actually cares.

"Oh," Louis says quietly, eyes focused on the road.

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry notices Louis's knuckles constrict around the steering wheel. He smiles with satisfaction. Well, at least that's something.

"What time do you want me to pick you up?" Louis wonders.

"Oh, don't worry about it. I'll find someone else to give me a _ride_ ," Harry assures, drawling out the last word with a purposeful sexual innuendo. He can't help but smirk when he notices Louis breathe in sharply with surprise.

"You're a menace," Louis seethes.

Harry smiles smugly. "There are plenty of fit guys at the club, Louis. I'm sure one of them would be willing to drive me home if I suck him off."

Louis shoots him a quick glare. "What are you trying to do, H? Are you trying to make me jealous or something?" he snaps.

Harry blinks with surprise. He stays silent for a few seconds and tries to compose himself. "Erm, I dunno."

"Because you can't expect me to feel possessive when _you_ don't want an exclusive relationship," he says, shaking his head.

Harry gulps slowly. "Is that what _you_ want? To, like, be boyfriends?"

Louis doesn't respond with words. He just nods slowly, almost shamefully.

"Oh," Harry chokes out. "I'm sorry. I just—"

"You need to make up your damn mind," Louis interrupts. He looks up towards the stoplight in front of him and stares at the red light with a burning stare. "You're giving me whiplash, H."

Harry bites his lip. "It's just complicated, Lou," he says quietly.

"Complicated," Louis repeats. "Right, okay."

"I'm sorry."

"You said that before, mate."

Harry frowns. _Mate_. Well, that's new. He's become accustomed to pet names like baby, darling, or love. His platonic tone leaves a burning sting in the back of his throat.

"Stop the car," Harry chokes out.

Louis scoffs. "We're just three blocks away from Fool's Gold. Be patient."

"I can walk," Harry snarls.

"Harry, don't be ridiculous."

"I said, stop the bloody car," Harry hisses.

So, with a burst of anger, Louis slams on the breaks. The Porsche comes to a screeching halt at the side of the road. Cars honk their horns and swerve around them. Harry reaches to grab the door handle and storm off, but Louis tilts his head hesitantly.

"C'mon, Rose. You can't walk down the street wearing _that_ ," Louis warns, eyeing his minimal clothing. "Do you know how dangerous that is around this part of town?"

"I'll be fine," Harry huffs. "Have fun with your fucking errands, you twat."

He slams the door in his face. As he disappears down the pavement, heels clacking audibly, Louis sighs with exhaustion. He watches Harry's scantily-clad figure fade into the horizon, pacing towards the neon Fool's Gold sign.

This stripper will be the death of him.

~

Harry nibbles on a stranger's ear as he shifts on his lap, grinding down against his hardening cock. He thinks the customer's name is John, or maybe Joe, or something like that. He's too high and drunk to care.  He took an ecstasy pill from one of the other dancers, Star, and he already drank two shots of tequila.  It takes the edge off.  It makes him _forget_ , at least for a little while.

He curls his arms around the man's neck and whimpers, rocking his hips slowly. His skirt splays out beautifully over his milky thighs. He can feel the man's scruffy beard scraping against the side of his neck. He smells like cigarette smoke and whiskey. His metal belt buckle digs into his arse, but he tries to act like it doesn't bother him.

After all, this is purely _acting_. It's making each customer feel lucky and special. It's putting on a show for sexual pleasure. It's faking orgasms and faking moans and faking _everything_. Harry feels like the best liar in the entire world.

The man grips his waist firmly and presses down, digging his dull nails into him. Harry looks down and notices the dark chocolate of his skin melting into his porcelain. He gives a high-pitched whimper and circles his hips faster, frantically, desperately. His cock hardens beneath his skirt.

"You're so hot," the man growls. His voice is deep and intimidating. His dark eyes almost look black in the club's dim lighting. His pupils are blown wide with arousal.

Around them, countless horny men get drunk and watch the strippers dance around golden poles. Paper bills flutter onto the stage whilst Emerald gives his routine under the spotlight. Lights flicker throughout the club sporadically, casting shadows of green, red, and blue on the bricked walls. Loud music booms through the speakers and makes Harry's tummy rumble with excitement.

"Need you," Harry fibs, tugging on the man's tie. He gives him a sloppy, heated kiss that tastes like regret and alcohol. His lips are plush and soft and rough at the same time.

He's done this so many times that it almost seems like a script. He knows how to manipulate his customers. It all comes down to word choice, skill, and the power of illusion. He wants to make this man feel important and special, as if this isn't Harry's _job_.  Like he isn't getting paid to do this.

"Maybe we should take this somewhere private," the dark-skinned man suggests, biting his lip seductively.

Harry blinks innocently. "What's in it for me?"

"A hundred pounds and a great shag."

"Sounds like a deal, Daddy."

It feels wrong calling anyone else that name. It only seems genuine when he's referring to Louis. It leaves a bitter taste on his tongue. But regardless, the man's cock hardens in his pants and presses against his bum. He kisses Harry again and nibbles on his bottom lip. For a moment, he wishes he could feel the sharp scrape of Louis's fangs against his skin.

"When does your shift end?" the man urges.

"Now, actually," Harry purrs. "Wanna take me black to your place?"

He rubs Harry's stiffening dick through his black skirt. "Yeah, baby. Wanna fuck you so good."

They stumble out of Fool's Gold drunkenly, clinging to each other like attracted magnets. The man calls a cab and takes Harry to his flat.  They make out sloppily in the back seat as they drive beneath the city lights.  

When they arrive at the man's extravagant apartment, Harry rides his cock like a professional, gripping his thighs and stirring his hips. It's messy, sloppy, and careless. It's a blurry mixture of spit, lube, and cum.

As he fucks himself on his dick, stretching him out, he closes his eyes and imagines Louis beneath him. He imagines Louis calling him _baby_ and grasping his love handles. He imagines Louis's soft reassurances and quiet whispers entering his brain. He screams Louis's name as he orgasms, but thankfully, the man's too blissed out to notice.

He falls asleep with a deep sadness seeping into his gut. He doesn't want this. He doesn't like kissing anyone else, touching anyone else, fucking anyone else. He just wants Louis.

Perhaps commitment isn't so bad, after all.  **  
**


	18. The Mistake

Harry's tense muscles ache as he sits up in a stranger's bed. His legs feel sticky with sweat and body oil residue. The man sleeps comfortably beside him, tangled up in the sheets, snoring obnoxiously. His belly rises up and down each time he inhales a raspy breath. Harry can't remember his name, or if they even exchanged names in the first place.

An intense hangover burns in his brain, making his eyes sensitive to the bright sunlight that filters through the nearby window. He faintly recalls drinking shots of tequila and taking drugs from one of his co-workers. He instantly regrets it. He tried to forget about Louis, to intoxicate his mind and let go of his feelings, but it didn't work. If anything, it made only it worse.

Shame settles in his gut as he slips on his skimpy outfit, tugging up his skirt around his hips where purple bruises stain his skin. He then pulls on his silky top, which feels tight on his chest. He nearly stumbles over his own feet whilst he steps into his fishnet tights. He steadies himself on the wall and tries to focus on breathing. The world seems to spin around him rapidly in a blur of painful motion.

"Rose," a hoarse voice calls out, interlaced with confusion.

Harry turns around on his heel. The man awoke from his slumber. He sits up in his bed and rubs his eyes tiredly.

"What are you still doing here?" the stranger pesters, squinting at Harry's disheveled frame.

Harry swallows awkwardly. "I— um, sorry. I'm leaving now."

The man looks faintly panicked as he glances at his alarm clock. He rubs a hand over his exhausted face. "Well, get out of my flat, slut. My girlfriend should be home soon from her holiday."

A sharp pain shoots through Harry's heart. _Shit_. "Girlfriend?"

"Yeah," the man says dismissively.

The black-haired man reaches over to his bedside table and checks his phone, carelessly scrolling through his texts as his dark thumb moves down the screen. Harry stands there dumbly in silence. He knows he should leave, should focus on putting his life back together, but his feet are glued to the floor. He helped this man cheat on his girlfriend. He blames himself, even if he didn't know.

"You have a girlfriend," Harry says numbly.

The man looks up with a raised eyebrow. "Did you not hear what I said, whore? Get out of my damn house," he spits bitterly.

Harry's jaw tightens. "You had sex with me," he murmurs.

"So what?"

"So it's wrong. You're in a relationship."

"Fuck off, mate. Don't tell me how to live my life," the man hisses. He angrily points towards the door. "Go back to your pimp. I'm sure he's missing your slutty arse."

Harry crosses his arms over his chest. "I'm _not_ a prostitute," he corrects.

"You sure seemed like a rent boy last night," he chuckles dryly.

Frustration surges in Harry's veins. He hates being treated like an object, as if he's _owned_ by someone. As if his life has no meaning. As if he's just part of a pimp's collection. He enjoys his job, he loves stripping, and he likes the thrill of being on stage. He'd rather spend his evenings in a nightclub than be hunched over a desk in a miserable cubicle.

"If you're so disgusted with me, why'd you fuck me?" he demands.

The man shrugs as he stands up from his bed. He grabs his carton of cigarettes off of his nightstand and ignites one with his lighter. He slips it between his chapped lips and takes in a deep breath before exhaling a cloud of grey smoke. Whilst the cigarette bobs in his mouth, he pulls on a pair of dirty, hole-filled jeans.

"I was curious," he explains, laughing softly. "But now I know I'm not into guys. You were an awful shag, mate."

Harry's offended. Of course he's offended. He may have been drunk, but he _knows_ how to have sex. He knows how to pleasure his customers.

"Bullshit," Harry growls, stepping closer in a threatening manner. He points his cold finger into the man's broad chest. His body is sculpted with strong muscles and dark hair.

"Hey, watch it," he grumbles, clasping his hand around Harry's dainty wrist. When he tightens his grasp, it _hurts_ , like his bones are being crushed.

Harry winces. "Fuck, let go!"

"I want you out of my house, whore!" says the stranger, dragging him towards the front door.

Harry just whimpers and follows like a ragdoll. He spots his heels near the welcome mat, discarded next to a pile of trainers and feminine sandals. Harry feels like he might throw up. His girlfriend actually _lives_ with him.

"Stop touching me, you bastard!" Harry shouts, deciding to use his superior strength to his advantage. As Louis always says: perks of being a vampire. He shoves the man's chest and pins him up against the door. Startled, he tries to fight back, but the stripper keeps his hands above his head.

"Don't disrespect me," Harry taunts, breathing cold air against his ear. He feels the man tremble beneath his touch.

"You're a worthless slut. You don't deserve my respect!" he rebuttals.

Harry snaps. He doesn't mean to, but he does. Every fiber of control breaks inside of him. Before he can think properly, he hears his fangs click, and he latches onto the man's neck instinctively. He sucks greedily whilst the man yelps in pain and chokes with surprise. His blood tastes warm and metallic and incredibly addictive. He can't stop, no matter how hard he tries. No matter how much his brain screams at him to let go.

_Harry._

Louis's voice cuts into his thoughts. Harry panics. He pulls off, leaving a wet trail of saliva between the man's skin and his lips. Blood oozes from the bite mark and drips from his greedy lips.

 _Stop. You don't need to do this_.

Harry whimpers when he looks back at the stranger. His eyes are loopy and drained from energy. He's still breathing, and his heart is beating, but he's slowly slipping into a state of unconsciousness.

"What have I done?" Harry squeaks out loud, covering his mouth with his palm.

When he releases his grip, the man nearly collapses. He quickly throws a supportive arm around his shoulder. He wordlessly carries him back to bed and lets him lay down. His hands tremble nervously. He almost _killed_ him. Of course he's a bad person, not to mention a dirty cheater, but he isn't a criminal. He doesn't deserve death.

_Find something to stop the bleeding, Harry._

Harry nods numbly, as if Louis could see him. He stumbles into the nearby bathroom, where the tiles feel like ice beneath his feet. The mirror is covered in a thin layer of dirt and grime. Uncapped tubes of toothpaste and frayed brushes litter the counter top. Silently, Harry shifts through the drawers and cabinets, searching desperately for a first aid kit. Thankfully, he finds a roll of gauze and medical tape in the shelf next to the shower.

He rushes back into the bedroom and stands next to the bedside. Blood drips down the man's wound and stains the sheets beneath him. Harry shivers with fear as he uncoils the white gauze and presses it against the bite mark. He can faintly see the indentations of his fangs in his swollen flesh.

"Please don't die," Harry sobs, his vision becoming blurry with tears.

 _It's okay, Harry. Just stop the bleeding_.

"I don't know how!"

_Tape down the gauze._

Harry sniffles and wipes his nose with the back of his hand. He rips off a piece of clear tape with his sharp teeth and straps it over the man's bloody wound. His eyes are closed, but he's still alive. Just passed out from loss of blood.

"Will he turn into a vampire because I bit him?" Harry worries. "That's what happened to me."

 _No. You're still a fledgling. You can't produce venom yet_.

"But Louis—"

 _He'll be fine. Trust me_.

Harry pinches his eyes shut. "I do."

 _Good. Now, I want you to call an ambulance_.

Harry actually gasps. "Are you crazy? I can't get caught!"

_Ring an ambulance, and then leave._

"What if he tells them that I'm a vampire? What if he exposes me?!" Harry cries out, pulling at his messy curls. He feels like his entire world is crumbling around him.

 _He won't remember anything_.

"But what if he _does_?!"

 _He won't, Harry. I promise_.

Harry whimpers painfully and scrubs his tears out of his eyes. He needs to trust Louis. He's his bond, after all, and he wouldn't do anything to hurt him. It's his job to protect him.

He fetches the man's phone and dials the emergency number with shaky fingers. He disguises his voice, making it sound higher pitched, and says that he needs an ambulance. He hangs up before the dispatcher can ask any more questions. He hopes the paramedics will assume the man passed out from a drug overdose. After all, this flat is filled with drug needles and orange vials of prescription pills.

Hurriedly, Harry straps on his black stilettos and scampers out of the complex. His mind spins around in circles as he tries to run away, tries to escape, tries not to get arrested for murder. He ignores the cold breeze that brushes against his bare arms. He keeps his eyes locked on the hard pavement as he shuffles away from the scene, heading towards downtown. His heels click in sync with his steps.

 _I'll be there soon_.

Harry actually lets out a breath of relief. He tries not to make eye contact with other pedestrians, in fear of giving himself away. He can still feel the wet tears that stain his cheeks. He's certain that his makeup has smudged by now.

A few minutes later, he hears an ambulance siren as it blares down the streets, heading towards the man's flat. He suddenly feels relieved, like maybe everything will be okay. Maybe he won't live with the guilt of unjustified murder on his shoulders. He's not religious, but he sends out a silent prayer of thanks to every divine being he can think of.

Eventually, he hears the familiar rumble of Louis's Porsche as it pulls up to the curb. He puts it in park and stares at Harry sadly through the window. Harry gulps and reluctantly slips into the passenger's side. He doesn't have much of a choice now. He clearly can't do this on his own.

His skirt rides up on his thighs as he plops down on the comfy seat. He shuts the door and stares down at his lap emotionlessly. He doesn't know what to say or think. He's just numb.

"H," Louis says softly, hands resting on the leather steering wheel. He still has the car in park. He wants to talk before they drive back to the cabin and try to figure everything out.

"I'm sorry," Harry chokes out, tears breaking his words.

"Oh, love," Louis soothes. He brushes his thumb over his soft cheek, causing him to look up. His eyes are sad and golden and lovely. He wipes off the mascara that drips down his skin.

Louis looks beautiful, as always.  His skin is paler, but perhaps that's just from nervousness.  He wears a loose black t-shirt that he nicked from Harry earlier, which is probably one size too large.  Although his eyes are the color of ice, they're soothing and reassuring.  His dark lashes flutter delicately.  

"I'm sorry for leaving," Harry whimpers. "I'm sorry for saying we're just bond friends. I'm sorry for having sex with someone else. I'm sorry for everything."

"Hey, it's okay," Louis hushes. His voice calms him down instantly. The effect he has on him is indescribable.

"I almost killed him," Harry rasps. "I was just so angry, and I— oh, God. I'm a monster."

"No," Louis promises, shaking his head. "You just made a mistake. It's my fault for not being there for you. You're still in your transformation phase, and fledglings can be... unpredictable."

Harry sniffles and wipes his eyes again. "It's not your fault. I pushed you away."

"I don't blame you.  I know commitment is... intense for you."

"But I—"

"Let's talk back at the cottage, darling. I'll make us some tea and we'll chat with snugly blankets. How does that sound?"

Harry cracks a small smile. It's barely noticeable, but at least it's something other than complete despair and regret. So Louis clears his throat, shifts his car, and starts driving back home.  He keeps one hand resting on Harry's bare thigh.  

Home, Harry thinks. And when he looks at Louis, he wonders if he's already there.


	19. The Establishment

The kettle on the stove whistles loudly with a high-pitched screech. Louis removes the tea from the hob and sets it aside to cool off. He stands on his tip-toes to reach the top cabinet and fetches Harry's favorite mug— the one with the rainbow. Personally, Louis prefers his Doncaster Rovers mug, but he's happy to give his fledgling what he wants. He fills the two cups with warm, steaming tea, and even though neither of them can taste it, he adds a dash of sugar and milk for good measure.

Louis steadily carries the two mugs out towards the living room. He can faintly hear the pipes hissing in the nearby bathroom, where Harry decided to take a quick shower. He waits patiently on the soft couch and perches his legs up on the coffee table. He takes a slow gulp of tea and wishes he could savor it. He remembers the bittersweet taste from when he was still a human teenager, back in France. He misses it.

He misses a lot of things about his past lives, actually.

Abruptly, Harry emerges from the loo wearing Louis's clothes. He chose a loose-fitting pair of Adidas joggers and a soft hoodie. His long hair is wet and drips down his shoulders, framing his face beautifully. His bare feet pad along the hardwood floors before he plops next to Louis on the large sofa.

"Feels nice to get out of that skirt," Harry chuckles, rubbing his hip painfully. "It's way too tight."

Louis frowns sympathetically. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay," Harry shrugs. He picks up his mug of tea and smiles softly at the rainbow on the front. He doesn't think Louis notices, but he does. He raises it to his red, puffy lips and takes a delicate sip.

"Are you comfortable?" Louis worries. "I could fetch a blanket, or—"

"I'm fine," Harry assures, shaking his head. "I mean, your hoodie is a little tight, but that's only 'cause you're a pixie."

Louis's mouth gapes open. "Oi! I was average height back in my day, mind you."

"Sure," Harry says, rolling his eyes.

Louis crosses his arms over his chest and huffs with annoyance. Pixie? He tries his hardest not to be offended.

They settle into a brief silence whilst they both drink their tea. The warmth reassures them that they can still _feel_ , that they were once living, that they still have a trace of humanity left in their veins. Harry listens to the ticking of Louis's antique grandfather clock that rests in the corner next to the fireplace. His golden eyes scan up and down his bookshelf, examining their multilingual titles.

"So, um," Louis clears his throat, "I just want you to know that what happened earlier wasn't entirely your fault. Vampire instincts are sometimes difficult to control."

Harry tenses up. He doesn't want to talk about what happened. He doesn't want to think about sinking his teeth into that man's neck, sucking his blood, making him faint. It makes him feel like a heartless monster.

"Listen," Louis says, setting his mug on a coaster. "I know you had sex with that man."

Harry inhales a sharp breath. "I—"

Louis hushes him. "Hey, let me finish," he interrupts. "I know you had sex with that man, but I'm not angry. Like you said, we're not in an exclusive relationship. You don't _belong_ to me, after all."

Harry nods numbly. "I, um. Yeah."

Louis meets his gaze so their eyes lock, finally, after an endless drought of avoidance. Harry looks scared and hesitant, like a shy kitten in a busy pet shop. His damp hair sticks to his temples with messy tangles.

"However, I also know that you were thinking about _me_ when he was fúcking you," Louis says blatantly, "which is... interesting."

Harry blushes and looks down at his lap shamefully. He doesn't say anything in response. His fingers curl around his mug tightly, making his silver rings press against his skin. He doesn't deny those thoughts; he's tired of denial. He just wants the truth.

"I just don't understand why you can't tell me how you really _feel_ ," Louis breathes, shaking his head with frustration. "You're hot and cold, y'know? One minute you're saying we're platonic bond buddies, and then the next, you want me to get all possessive over you. I think I deserve honesty, after all I've done for you."

Harry bites his lip, pressing his fangs into his pink flesh. "I know, it's just... difficult."

"You always say that," Louis sighs, "but you never tell me _why_."

"Because it just _is_ , Louis."

"Why is commitment such a big issue for you, huh? Is it because your family isn't committed to _you_? Because you have abandonment issues?"

"No!" Harry scoffs. "It's not that. I left _them_ , not the other way around."

"Then what is it? Did you have your heart broken or summat?"

"No."

"Do you think commitment is scary?"

"No, not anymore."

"Then what is it?" Louis pleads, choking down his cries. He just wants to know the truth. He wants to _understand_ , more importantly. "Tell me, H. Please."

Harry stays quiet for a few seconds. He looks down at his mug and rubs his thumb over the pretty rainbow, which has become scratched from constant cycles in Louis's dishwasher. The ceramic material still feels tepid from the warm tea.

"I don't think I _deserve_ an exclusive relationship," he says softly. His words are interlaced with fear and shame. "I'm a stripper, and I— I'm meant to be used for entertainment. Not for love."

And suddenly, it all clicks. Louis sits in stunned quietness for a few seconds. His mouth gapes open slightly, and he wants to say something, but his mind can't compose a proper sentence at the moment. He doesn't know how to tell Harry how lovely he is. There isn't a single word in the English dictionary that captures his magnificence.

"Liam always says that I'm the customers' favorite," Harry continues, voice low. "But they don't like _me_. They just like my body. I'm not a real person to them, y'know?"

Louis doesn't know, but he nods anyway.

"But stripping is what I do best, so after a while, I started to think that maybe that's how things are supposed to be. Maybe I'm not supposed to be loved. Perhaps I'm just temporary amusement in a golden thong."

Louis frowns. He reaches out and grabs Harry's hands softly, holding them in his own, despite their size difference. He squeezes his fingers with reassurance.

"I like you because you're Harry, not because you're Rose," Louis promises, sincerity sparkling in his silver irises. "I like the boy who enjoys animated movies and ice cream and cuddles and long walks through the woods. Don't get me wrong, I think your dancing is incredibly sexy, but it's not the only reason I want to be your boyfriend."

Harry sniffles a little. "But I— I touch other men for a living, Louis. That's not exactly boyfriend material."

Louis smooths his thumb over the back of his hand, feeling the ridges of his knuckles. "I don't care, love. It's your _job_."

"Doesn't it bother you?"

Louis ponders that for a moment. "As long as you're not having sex with your customers, it's not a problem for me."

"No, of course not. I'm not a prostitute."

"I know, darling. I'm just trying to clarify."

Harry chews on the inside of his cheek thoughtfully. "But won't you get, like, jealous?"

Louis sighs quietly. "Let me tell you a little story, love," he begins, clearing his throat. "My friend, Niall, used to be married to a beautiful woman called Grace. It was the 1920's and promiscuity was all the rave. She was a dancer, much like yourself. She spent her evenings at jazz clubs and put on shows in front of hundreds of men."

Harry frowns. "Didn't that make Niall jealous?"

"No," Louis says, shaking his head. "It's all about _trust_ , babe. Niall knew that Grace would never cheat on him. Her sexuality was a way to express herself, not to be unfaithful."

"But it must've made him feel uncomfortable, right? Watching his wife be so openly erotic?"

"No. It was _her_ job, not his. Besides, he knew that at the end of the day, she'd come home to be with him, not with those other men."

Harry's lashes flutter shyly. "That's a lot of trust," he muses.

"It is," Louis confirms with a short nod. "And I'm more than willing to give that same trust to you."

Harry doesn't respond verbally. Instead, he leans forward and closes the gap between them. Their soft lips collide for what seems like the first time in eons. Louis's scratchy facial hair itches his porcelain skin as he tugs on his bottom lip between his teeth, nibbling gently. Harry giggles into the kiss and darts his tongue into Louis's mouth. He cups his cheeks and brings him even closer.

"Missed this," Louis huffs, running his fingers through Harry's damp hair. He curls one of his ringlets around his thumb and watches it bounce back when he lets go. He's absolutely stunning in every way possible.

"Me too," Harry confesses, flushing.

"So does this mean we're more than bond-friends?" Louis asks gently, scratching at his nape with dull fingernails.

Harry pecks his lips again. "Boyfriends."

It's one word, just two syllables, but it changes Louis's entire world. His heart soars like a bird that escaped from a metal cage. He actually feels tears of happiness build up in his eyes. He can't believe he can finally call Harry his significant other. He feels like the luckiest man on the planet.

"I'm gonna call you _boyfriend_ constantly for the next few days," Louis warns. "I apologize in advance if it gets annoying."

Harry laughs softly and buries his face into his neck. He smells like cinnamon. He presses a gentle kiss to his collarbone.

"You can also call me _baby_ , if you want," Harry hums. "And I can call you Daddy."

Louis instantly feels flustered. His cock jolts inside of his athletic shorts.

"Fuck," Louis seethes and cups Harry's arse. "I thought we were just having a cute conversation about our relationship status?"

"We were," Harry says, kissing up his shoulder. He nibbles on the sensitive skin beneath his ear. "And now I want to celebrate with my boyfriend."

"I thought I was your Daddy?"

Harry whimpers and stirs his hips a little, trying to find some friction on this small, cramped sofa. "You are, sometimes."

"Oh?"

"Yes, Daddy."

Louis gulps. "Wait, love, I— I think we need to talk about this."

Harry makes a disappointed grunt in the back of his throat. "We already talked."

"Yes, but— not about _this_ ," Louis says, smoothing his hands over Harry's thighs. The younger boy pulls back with wide eyes, flushed cheeks, and swollen lips.

"You don't think I'm weird, do I?" he asks quietly, toying nervously with the sleeve of Louis's hoodie.

Louis instantly shakes his head and rubs Harry's arm soothingly. "No! No, God, of course not. I get off on this just as much as you do."

The tension in Harry's shoulders fades away. "Oh, okay, good. Then what is it?"

Louis pauses to collect his thoughts. It's difficult to speak logically when Harry has a boner right next to him. He can see the outline of his cock tenting up in his joggers.

"I just think we should think of, like, a safeword. I was researching BDSM stuff earlier, and I—"

"Wait, you were _researching_?" Harry cuts him off, eyes widening with surprise.

Louis gives a shy shrug. "Erm, yeah. That's why I had to run _errands_ earlier, actually. I wanted to make sure we're handling this correctly," he confesses, adding finger quotations around the word "errands."

Harry pecks his cheek gratefully. It's sweet and gentle and lovely. "Thank you. That's really thoughtful."

Louis smiles proudly and rests his hand on Harry's hip, squeezing slightly. "Of course. We should talk about our kinks, you know? What we like, dislike, and are willing to try. And we need a safeword, so I can still push your boundaries without it being dangerous."

Harry blinks with shock. "Wow, that's, um. A lot."

"Well, _this_ is a lot," Louis says and motions between them. A look of seriousness crosses over his face, and Harry realizes that this isn't a matter to joke about. "I'd never be able to live with myself if I actually hurt you." His voice cracks over the last few words.

Harry kisses the back of his hand. "It's okay," he breathes against his skin. It calms Louis down in an instant and brings him back to reality. He lets go of his worried thoughts. They both trust each other, after all. Their bond makes them indestructible.

"I like calling you Daddy," Harry says shamelessly. "I, um, like spanking sometimes. That's one of my favorites. Stripping is always nice, which might sound sort of weird because it's my job. But I like dressing up and taking off my clothes to, like, rile you up or whatever. And I enjoy being tied up sometimes."

Louis feels overwhelmed with lust. Images of Harry wound up in bondage flash through his head. He wants to do _everything_ with him.

"Fuck, okay," Louis exhales. "I'm sorta into the whole punishment and reward thing. And I never liked lingerie until I met you, but— damn, that really turns me on. You look really sexy in pretty lace and skirts."

Harry blushes even redder and nuzzles his face into his neck again. He thinks about Louis bending him over his knee and spanking him until his arse turns pink. And then when he wears his golden thong to the club, and his bum cheek pokes out, everyone could see Louis's handprint. It makes him hornier than it probably should.

"Daddy," he croaks. "Please, I can't wait any longer. I just— fuck. Really need you."

Louis rubs his back calmingly. "Shh, it's okay. I've got you."

His hands slip beneath his bum and lift him up. Harry instinctively latches onto his shoulders and curls his legs around his waist. Louis tries to ignore Harry's hard-on that presses against his stomach as he carries him into his dimly-lit bedroom. Harry whimpers into his chest.

"Lay down, love," Louis whispers, setting Harry on the messy, unmade bed.

Harry whines and scoots backwards, resting his head on a pillow. His chest rises up and down rapidly. He stares up at the white ceiling and tries to catch his breath. Louis overwhelms him in every way possible. Perhaps it's a combination of his charm and their bond.

"Say _red_ if it's too much, okay?" Louis prompts.

Harry nods whilst laying down. (Or at least he _tries_.)

"Use your words, baby."

"Yes, Daddy."

Louis smiles with satisfaction. "I'm going to take off your clothes now, okay?"

Harry lifts his hips eagerly. "Please, Daddy."

Louis smirks and kneels on the bed. The mattress bounces slightly beneath his weight. He curls his fingers around the waistband of his fleece joggers and pulls down slowly, torturously, until Harry whimpers with impatience. His face pales when he catches a glimpse of Harry's pink knickers underneath. His cock is straining against them, marked with a dark patch of wetness on the front. His panties have a lace trim that contrasts beautifully against his porcelain skin.

He tugs down his joggers and yanks them past Harry's ankles. He tosses them aside and focuses on the task at hand— getting Harry naked.

"Take off your top," Louis instructs.

Harry's throat bobs as he props himself up, using just his abs. He takes off his hoodie, which still smells like Louis's cologne and fresh laundry detergent. Defined muscles accentuate his chest, decorated with countless tattoos. His pink nipples are perky and hard, like always, just begging to be touched. His laurel inkings draw attention to his pretty hipbones.

"You're gorgeous, baby," Louis says breathlessly. "I'm so lucky to call you mine."

Harry whimpers and clutches onto the sheets. He's aching for some sort of skin-to-skin contact, but he doesn't want to initiate anything. He lets Louis take charge. It's all about trust, and he trusts Louis to give him exactly what he needs.

"Look at you, so hard," Louis teases, clicking his tongue on the roof of his mouth.

He smooths his palm over the front of Harry's knickers. His legs twitch in response. Smirking, Louis decides to rub up and down the length of his dick. The head of his cock is poking out from the hem of his panties, so Louis leans in and flicks his tongue over it.

"Daddy!" Harry gasps, pressing up against his mouth. "Feels s-so good."

Louis hums attentively and kisses the tip of his length. Feeling generous, he finally takes off his panties to let his erection spring free. A rush of relief floods through Harry's body. He eagerly kicks his legs in an attempt to get them off. Louis just chuckles and pushes them aside.

Now, Harry's completely naked, and Louis is totally clothed which, in retrospect, probably isn't fair. So he takes off his tank top to reveal his tanned stomach, chest hair, and marvelous collarbones. Harry's glossy eyes rake over him.

"I think you owe me an extra orgasm," Louis says thoughtfully, tweaking Harry's left nipple. He lets out a choked sob of pleasure. He's always _so_ sensitive and responsive. Louis adds that to the list of things he likes about Harry.

"Don't you think that's fair, baby? After all, you had sex with that man whilst thinking of me, and I didn't even get to see it for myself," he recalls. "You think you can do that for me? Come once from my mouth and again from my cock?"

Harry nods enthusiastically, curls bouncing. "Yes, Daddy. Wanna be good for you."

Louis smiles smugly and kisses his hipbone. "I know you do, baby. Always such a well-behaved fledgling."

So he licks his palm to reduce friction and grips the base of Harry's dick. Slowly, he begins to move up and down, occasionally thumbing over the head. Harry just bites his lip and whimpers and chokes down broken gasps. Louis jerks him off slowly, torturously, and uses his other hand to cup his balls. His fist pumps up and down his length with urgency and anticipation.

"I'm the only one who can touch you like this, yeah?" Louis teases, increasing his pace. Harry curses under his breath and resists the urge to fúck up into his hand.

Wordlessly, Louis dips forward and sucks the tip of his cock between his thin lips. Harry's body convulses with pleasure. Louis smirks and loosens his jaw to take in more, sinking down halfway. He suppresses his gag reflex and hollows his cheeks. Harry whimpers and laces his fingers through Louis's soft hair. He'll never grow tired of seeing the older man between his thighs.

Louis pulls off of his cock with an audible _pop_. Then, he subtly starts rubbing Harry's rim with his thumb, teasing his tight muscle. He makes circular movements around his hole, causing him to jolt impatiently.

"Be a good boy and stay still," Louis warns, accentuating his words with a pinch on his arse. He bites his tongue.

"Y-Yes, Daddy."

Louis hums and lowers his head again, letting his mouth breathe hotly against Harry's entrance. He licks forward once, eliciting a quiet whine from the stripper. He slowly prods his tongue inside of him, using his thumbs to separate his tightness. He licks inside of his velvety walls and shows no mercy. He curls his tongue sinfully, causing Harry to clamp his thighs around his neck.

"Oh!" Harry nearly screams, eyes pinching shut. "More, more, more."

Louis retracts his tongue for a moment, letting his teeth graze over his sensitive rim. His hole clenches around nothing. Louis moistens his lips and dives back in, relentlessly licking inside of him. Harry shivers, completely overwhelmed, and digs his fangs into his bottom lip.

"Please," he croaks, growing impatient. Louis just nuzzles in closer, so his stubble scratches his sensitive skin, causing Harry to whimper. "Louis, _please_."

"Want you to come from my mouth," Louis says hotly, pulling back slightly. "I know you can do it, baby. You're such an obedient fledgling, right?"

Harry gasps as he licks a wet stripe over his hole again. It's so indescribably hot. Louis's touches are so rough, dominant, and addictively aggressive in the best way possible. He never wants it to end. He wants to be man-handled by Louis for the rest of eternity.

The older vampire pries apart his milky thighs, snapping him out of his lusty thoughts. He gives small kitten-licks to his glistening hole. Harry can feel himself floating towards his orgasm with each tantalizing curl of his tongue. He sucks on his rim for a few seconds, making the younger boy squirm. His aching cock throbs against his stomach, hard and leaking. He wants to reach forward and jerk himself off, but he knows he shouldn't. Louis's rules were pretty straight-forward.

"Come for me, baby," Louis whispers against his skin.

He leans upwards and kisses the head of Harry's cock, and that's all it takes. Harry sees blissful white behind his eyelids as he comes, releasing thick stripes of jizz over his bare chest. His jaw falls slack around a silent gasp. Louis whispers calming reassurances and kisses against his hipbone, coaxing him through his orgasm.

"Good boy," Louis hushes, gently stroking his freshly-shaven thigh.

Harry squirms from the aftershocks of his orgasm. His eyes are pinched tightly as he curls his toes. He whimpers from oversensitivity when he feels Louis rubbing his thumb over his wet entrance.

"Lou," Harry croaks, voice rough and dry.

Louis hums, biting his bottom lip harshly. His silver eyes are glued to his hole. Harry can't help but blush and feel exposed in the best way possible.

"Want me to stop?" Louis hesitates, glancing up shyly. "I won't be upset if you don't want a round two, love."

Harry whines and clamps his legs around Louis, urging him to come closer. "No, I want you, Daddy. Want you to fúck me hard."

Louis smirks and murmurs out a quiet, "Good boy."

Then he clambers over towards the bedside table, rips open the drawer, and retrieves the lube and a condom. He settles between Harry's spread legs again and uncaps lubricant bottle. The _pop_ sound sends a shiver down Harry's spine. He's already growing hard again, his length stiffening with each passing second. It's painful and pleasurable at the same time.

He coasts his forefingers with lube and presses his index to his clenching hole, applying a little bit of pressure. He slowly goes up to the knuckle. He feels Harry's tight muscles constricting around him as he adds another finger to scissor him open. The stretch feels incredible. Harry lets out wrecked gasps and rocks down against him.

"So good," Harry murmurs, eyebrows furrowed with concentration. He keeps sinking down on Louis's fingers, attempting to find his spot.

Louis's fingers brush over his prostate, and Harry lets out a loud moan, gripping the bed sheets with paled knuckles. He whimpers pathetically and circles his hips sensually. Even though he's cold and lifeless, he feels like he's on fire. His fangs prick his bottom lip as he winces with pleasure.

"Don't stop, Daddy," Harry hiccups, his body jolting with each word.

His beautiful lashes are fluttering like pretty butterfly wings. Louis's silver eyes examine every square inch of his body, milking the delicious sight in front of him. He spreads his fingers to stretch him further.

"Please," Harry begs, lips trembling. "Want you now."

Louis hushes him, removing his fingers and wiping them on the bed sheets. "Shh, I've got you. It's okay."

He takes off his shorts and boxers, pumping his cock to his full length. Harry licks his lips hungrily, craving the thick slide of aching stretch inside of him. He fumbles with the condom and rolls it over his dick, leaving it taunt at the tip. Then, he squirts some extra lube into his palm and coats his hard member.

"Hurry up," Harry complains with a glimmer of mischief in his eyes. He wraps his long legs around Louis's waist, allowing him to line up with his stretched entrance. He presses his tip against his clenching hole.

"Ready, love?"

Harry nods brokenly, panting like a dog on a hot summer's day. Louis bites his lip and inches forward, slipping into his tight heat. His body pulses around his length. He gives Harry a moment to adjust before he pushes further, all the way in, causing the younger boy to moan deeply.

He subtly rocks his hips, making shallow thrusts. He eventually increases his pace and starts hammering forward, utilizing his superior vampire strength. Harry gasps and claws his painted nails down Louis's sweaty back. The bed knocks against the wall and creaks beneath them.

"Fuck, you feel so good," Louis praises, fucking into him harder and faster. He presses a sloppy kiss to the side of his neck, right where his scar should be, hidden beneath some pale concealer. His fangs scrape over the mark, causing goosebumps to pepper his skin.

Louis thrusts with all his might, grunting into the column of Harry's throat. Harry moans and whimpers and makes pretty noises as his boyfriend wrecks him. His matted hair sticks to his forehead and covers his eyes, so he scrapes it away, looking up to meet a pair of platinum irises. Louis grumbles and kisses him messily, a mixture of tongue and lips and sharp teeth.

Harry rocks down against him, rotating his hips at the perfect angle. A whine tears through his throat when Louis hits his prostate perfectly. His eyes screw shut and his puffy lips fall open. His cheeks are pink and his hair is unruly, and yet, Louis thinks Harry is the purest definition of _elegant_.

"Nobody else can have you like this, yeah?" Louis teases, snapping his hips.

Harry grips his shoulders tightly. "Only you," he promises.

With a moan of satisfaction, Louis bends Harry's body for more leverage. He pounds into him relentlessly, digging his fingers into the softness of his waist. When he lets go, red marks taint the flesh of his hips. Harry hopes they'll never fade.

"Gonna come for me, sweetheart? Gonna be a good boy for Daddy?"

Harry practically screams in ecstasy. The hot pressure inside of him is completely overwhelming, accompanied by rough grasps, wet kisses, and playful bites. He never knew this could feel so good. He never knew that sex could be more than drunken kisses, dull club music, and tacky lingerie.

Louis reaches between them and grips Harry's cock. It only takes three more thrusts before he orgasms, letting his body go lax, allowing the pleasure to takeover. His mind goes blank for a while. He just feels hot and relieved and sticky. He faintly senses Louis thrusting in him as he comes undone, releasing into the condom. Harry's body tightens around him.

Feeling exhausted, Louis collapses on top of him. Their chests rise up and down as Harry's come dries between them. When Harry regains enough strength, he starts tracing random patterns on Louis's back. He presses a light kiss to his cheek, causing him to sigh contently.

"That was an excellent way to start our exclusive relationship," Louis comments, his voice sounding archaic and rough.

Harry giggles and nudges his shoulder. "Kinda hard to breathe, love."

Louis snickers and pulls out, scrunching his nose as he takes off the condom. He discards it in the bin on the left bedside. Then, he rolls next to Harry and wipes off his chest with his wadded-up boxers.  He scoffs.

"You're disgusting."

"And you're adorable," Louis says, tapping his nose.

Harry rolls his eyes and rests his head on Louis's warm chest. Even though he's bloodless, he gives off warmth and comfort. He nuzzles his nose into the crook of his neck as Louis's arms curl around his waist securely.

_Time to rest, love._

Harry hums against his skin. "Love it when you talk in my head. 's nice."

Louis smiles and kisses the top of his head. _Alright, love. Sweet dreams._


	20. The Discovery

"Lou," Harry murmurs, slipping his cold feet between Louis's calves. The weight of his arm curls around his waist, holding him close, with his back pressed to his chest. It seems peculiar to be cuddling with someone at this ungodly hour of the morning. Usually, his adulterous customers kick him out by sunrise. "Can you close the curtains, please? It hurts."

Bright sunlight filters through the large window, illuminating Louis's king-sized bed, making Harry's skin sting. It feels like an intense sunburn. He already had sensitive skin before he became a vampire, so the brightness is practically unbearable now. He just wants to curl under the covers and hide, maybe for eternity.

"Alright, babe," Louis hums, releasing his grasp.

He presses a soft kiss to Harry's shoulder before he climbs out of bed and stumbles over towards the window. He shuts the navy blue curtains, sealing out all the light and plunging the room into darkness. Harry lets out a sigh of relief and flops onto his back, spreading his long limbs like a starfish. He tilts his head and glances at Louis, who stares at him from across the room, completely naked. Harry licks his lips.

"Mornin'," he croaks, voice rough and gravely.

Louis smiles and perches at the edge of the bed. "How are you feeling, love?"

"A bit sore," Harry chuckles dryly, "but I'm okay."

Louis pouts a little. "I'm sorry. Do you want a massage?"

Harry huffs. It's a tempting offer, but he doesn't want to sprout an accidental boner from Louis massaging his bum. That'd be completely humiliating.

"I'm fine. Kinda just wanna take a bath and rest. I have to work tonight, but we can be lazy until then, right?"

"Right," Louis echos, eyes crinkling. "That sounds perfect, darling. I'll go run you a bubble bath whilst you relax. Do you prefer vanilla or lavender soap?"

"Lavender, please," Harry grins.

Louis nods, kisses his forehead, and stands up wearily. He slips on his boxers that he left on the floor and paces towards the bathroom. The plush carpet squishes between his tiny toes. Harry bites his lip with his fangs and watches his plump arse. Damn, he's so lucky.

"Oh, and Lou?" Harry mumbles.

Louis turns around on his heel, eyebrows raised. "Yes, sweetheart?"

"Do you have that shampoo I like? The kind that smells like the ocean?"

Louis shakes his head fondly. "Yes, H."

"Okay," Harry giggles, pulling the white sheet up to his chin. "Thanks."

Louis just rolls his eyes and steps into the bathroom, padding over the icy tiles. The air feels significantly colder than in the bedroom. His bathtub is an antique contrast to the rest of his modern cabin, complete with golden clawfeet and old porcelain. He twists the silver knob towards the red indicator, then plugs up the drain when the water feels warm enough. He pours in some lavender soap and swirls it around with his hands, causing white bubbles to rise to the surface. It smells heavenly. He even adds some dissolvable rose petals that fizzle and carry a heavy fragrance. He suppresses the urge to crack a joke about Harry bathing in roses, since he chose _Rose_ as a pseudonym.

He returns to the bedroom, where Harry lies on the unmade bed, tapping away at his phone. The glow of his screen makes his skin look blue-tinted. Louis smiles and leans up against the doorway. When Harry doesn't notice him, he clears his throat.

"Oh, hi," Harry says, glancing up. He sets his phone on the bedside table.

"Ready, love?"

Harry blushes faintly and nods. "Yeah, thanks."

He walks towards the bathroom, making sure to give Louis a peck on the cheek to show his gratitude. When he sees the sparkly tub with bubbles and rose petals, he nearly squeals. It's so beautiful and lovely and puts his mind at ease.

"You're the best boyfriend ever," Harry hums, giving Louis a warm hug. He smiles against his shoulder and rubs his back soothingly, dull nails scratching his skin.

"Get in before the water runs cold," Louis urges. He pats his bare bum for emphasis.

Harry just gives a cheeky smile before he climbs into the tub. He falls into a state of relaxation as he submerges himself in the steaming water, resting his legs on the opposite ledge. Louis kisses the top of Harry's wet hair and decides to leave him alone, for privacy's sake. He doesn't want to come off as clingy and overprotective. Harry can bathe by himself, after all. He's not a child.

"I'll be in my office if you need me," Louis explains, hesitating at the doorway.

"Okay, Daddy."

Louis pauses before he shuts the door. He sighs at length and mutters softly, "Such a tease."

~

"Can wooden stakes actually kill us, or is that just another vampire myth?" Harry asks quietly, squinting at the television screen. He watches with anticipation as the blonde girl runs around in a tacky cheerleader's uniform, chasing after a pale, sharp-fanged vampire. The makeup artistry is ridiculous, actually. Completely laughable.

When Louis doesn't respond to his question, he rubs his thumb over the back of his hand to grab his attention. Currently, they're cuddling on the couch, watching an old _Buffy the Vampire Slayer_ film from 1992. Harry requested it, of course, because he loves seeing the media's representation of himself. They're seated side-by-side with Harry's head lolled on Louis's shoulder, rubbing his nose into his neck. He smells like cinnamon.

"It's true," Louis says a few seconds later, like his mind is lagging.

Harry bites the inside of his cheek. " 's kinda scary," he notes, nodding at the telly. He watches with glossy eyes whilst Buffy stabs a vampire in the chest.

"It's scary?"

"Yeah, 'cause, like, she's trying to _kill_ them. 's not their fault. They just eat people to survive, y'know?"

Louis nods and hooks an arm around his shoulder. He could listen to Harry's mindless rambles for years and years. "I guess so."

Harry sighs softly as the credits start to scroll down the black screen. He rubs his eyes tiredly and steals a glance at the clock. "I suppose I should start getting ready for work."

"What time does your shift start?"

"Eight o'clock," Harry murmurs, picking at his nails. "You don't have to take me. Liam texted me earlier and offered to give me a ride."

Louis frowns. "Isn't that weird?" he asks, worry filling his voice. "Does your boss normally, like, drive you places?"

Harry shrugs. "Not really, no. But it's probably fine."

"Well, okay. If you say so."

"I'm gonna go get ready."

Harry grins, kisses his cheek, and retreats to Louis's bedroom to fix his hair and blindly apply his makeup. Even without a mirror, he manages to smear some glitter on his eyelids and flick some mascara over his lashes. He smudges concealer over the mark on his neck, and it's probably one shade too dark, but he knows the customers won't mind. They don't care about makeup, after all. It's all about sensual movements and revealing clothing.

He usually feels excited to go to Fool's Gold. It's an adrenaline rush, a moment in the spotlight, a temporary relief from loneliness. But now, he feels somewhat reluctant to leave. He knows it'll be strange to touch another man. He's become accustomed to the rough scratch of Louis's beard, the iciness of his skin, the pierce of his fangs.

"You look sexy," Louis compliments, suddenly appearing in the doorway. He has his arms crossed over his chest with bulging biceps. His silver-tinted eyes slowly ascend from the milky smoothness of Harry's calves to his sculpted cheekbones. He's like a perfect work of art, crafted by gods.

Harry smirks. "I haven't even put on my thong yet."

" 's fine," Louis shrugs. "You're gorgeous just the way you are."

He approaches him slowly, like a lion stalking its prey. Harry's throat bobs. Usually, he has immense confidence and composure around other men. He _knows_ he's attractive; his job relies on it. But somehow, Louis manages to dissolve all his self-assurance— not in a bad way. It's refreshing. It's new. He's never felt so weak in the knees and jittery, like all those sappy love songs describe.

"I don't really want you to leave," Louis admits, grasping his hands. He can feel the ridges of his bones shifting beneath his skin.

Harry frowns. "I thought you didn't have a problem with my job."

"I don't," Louis clarifies. "But I'll still _miss_ you."

Harry rolls his eyes teasingly. "I'll be home by three o'clock, I promise."

Louis licks over his fangs. Harry feels hypnotized, watching the slow swipe of his tongue. He tries not to think of Louis eating him out.

"Are you sure you don't want me to come with?" Louis inquires.

"No, I'll be alright. You have scientific papers to write, yeah?" Harry asks, recalling the stack of lab research and botany encyclopedias in his office.

Louis scoffs. "I'd rather watch you strip, love."

Harry blushes and ducks his head. "Shut up. We can survive a few hours apart. Besides, I don't want you to distract me whilst I'm on stage."

Louis pouts in protest. "But—"

"I promise to give you a private dance afterwards," Harry smirks, placing a hand on Louis's hip.

He pulls him closer and kisses him sloppily, parting his lips and pressing his fangs into his bottom lip. Louis gasps in surprise and latches onto Harry's shoulders. He kisses him softer, gentler, slowing down his movements until the kiss is filled with tension. He pecks his lips one last time, letting it linger.

"I never thought I'd do this," Harry whispers, pressing their foreheads together. His eyes shut gracefully. Louis can sense that something is wrong, that a fragile boundary has been broken.

"Do what?" Louis presses, pulling back slightly. He caresses the side of Harry's soft face. He looks up to meet his gaze.

"Settle down with someone," Harry exhales. "This is, like, a _real_ relationship."

"Are you having doubts?"

"No, not doubts," Harry promises, shaking his head. "Just... realizations, I guess."

"Are they _bad_ realizations?"

"No," he says softly, giving him a quick kiss.

Louis lets out a subtle sigh of relief. He doesn't think Harry notices, but he does. Of course he does. They have a _bond_ , after all.

"Hey, it's okay," Harry assures, giving a reassuring smile. "This is just new to me. I'm still trying to tackle this whole _boyfriend_ thing."

Louis laughs. "Well, you're doing an excellent job so far."

"Really?"

"Of course, love. And this is new to me, too, because I haven't dated another vampire in... a long time. All of my ex-wives were human, y'know. They were disposable," Louis says, then wrinkles his nose. "That sounded horrible, didn't it?"

"It's fine," Harry giggles and shakes his head. "But I'm not easy to get rid of, Louis. You're stuck with me."

"And I'm perfectly fine with that."

Harry dimples and buries his face in the crook of his neck. Louis settles his hands on his pudgy hips, sneaking under the hem of his (Louis's) t-shirt to feel his cold skin. Harry smiles against his skin and presses a kiss to his collar bone, right above his _it is what it is_ tattoo.

Suddenly, there's a loud and forceful knock at the door. Harry jolts in surprise and bumps his head against Louis's chin. He hears the _clank_ of his teeth clashing together. He immediately gasps and covers his mouth with his hands.

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry!" he blurts out, watching as Louis rubs his chin painfully.

"It's fine, love," Louis chuckles, waving his hand dismissively. Harry still looks worried. He glances out the window and narrows his eyes at the black range rover parked in his driveway. "Is that Liam's car?"

"Yeah."

"Well, don't be rude, H. Don't leave him on our doorstep."

He expects Harry to think of a witty comeback, but he just smiles timidly, the corners of his mouth twisting upwards. He dwells on the word _our_. He has his own flat in the main city, but Louis still considers the cottage to be theirs, collectively. As if they share it. As if they're domestic boyfriends who live together and bathe together and know each other's habits instinctively. Which, perhaps they are.

After a few seconds, Harry clears his throat and shuffles out to the living room. He sees Liam's dark silhouette behind the door's vertical windows. He intakes a deep breath of courage before he opens it, forcing out a fake smile.

"Hey, Liam."

The older man stands on the doorstep, clad in a black suit and a blue tie. He looks ridiculous in this sylvan-styled setting. His brown eyes are soft and gentle, like a baby deer's, but he has the stance of a predator. His hands are tucked behind his back, but Harry knows he's probably wearing that giant Rolex watch on his wrist, his most-prized possession.

"Hello, Rose," he greets, mouth stiff in a straight line. He glances around curiously, eyeing the tall trees and mossy grasses. "Y'know, when Angel mentioned that you were staying here, I didn't expect it to look so..."

"Rustic?"

"Sure, that's a better adjective than I had in mind," Liam confesses, letting out a dry, humorless laugh. "Are you ready to go?"

Harry raises an eyebrow. "You don't wanna come inside for a bit? You can meet my boyfriend, Louis."

Liam tuts. "No, I'm quite alright."

Harry tenses up. Usually, he feels calm and casual around Liam. He's a nice boss. He's kind, generous, and always takes Harry's thoughts into consideration. He gave him a job when nobody else would. But now, it feels different. It's colder. It's less comfortable, like Harry's standing at the edge of the grand canyon, just waiting to be pushed.

Harry's smile fades. "Okay, then."

Without another word, Liam turns on his heel and walks down the stone path that leads to his luxurious car. Harry follows obediently with his head hung low. He climbs into the passenger's seat, sliding over the comfortable leather interior. He brushes his hair out of his eyes as Liam shifts the car in reverse, backing out. They fall into an uncomfortable silence whilst Liam drives down the gravelly road, heading downtown. Harry stares at the countless rings on his fingers as he grips the steering wheel. He has a new addition to his tattoo collection, Harry thinks, noticing the eagle on his hand. For freedom, he assumes.

"So," Liam says, clearing his throat. There's no radio, no background noise. Just the unsettling sounds of rocks crunching beneath tires and heavy breathing. "Why have you been spending so much time with that man?"

Harry perks up. "Louis?"

"Yes."

"He's my boyfriend, Liam."

"Boyfriend," Liam repeats, doubtful. "Right, that's what Angel told me, but I'm not sure if I believe it."

Harry blinks with surprise. "Pardon?"

"I know you're lying to me. You think I haven't noticed your strange behavior lately? You've been skipping work, changing your appearance, spending so much time with _him_. Hell, even the other dancers have noticed, and they're high as balls most of the time."

Harry feels panic rush through his veins. His mouth feels as dry as the Sahara. He wants to reply, to justify his actions, but he _can't_. He doesn't know how. He can't explain his behavior without exposing his vampiric identity.

"Listen, Rose, I've been through this routine with other dancers. You're not the first one to fall into prostitution."

Harry gapes. "What the fuck, Liam? I'm not a prostitute!"

Liam shoots him a quick glare as they approach a stop sign. "Well for fuck's sake, Rose! What do you expect me to think? You used to be one of my best employees, and suddenly this man comes into your life, and now—"

"It's Louis," Harry cuts him off, teeth clenched in anger. "He has a name."

"Fine, then. _Louis_ comes into your life, and now you're living in some dump in the middle of the woods, showing up late to work, and isolating yourself from all the other dancers. And what the fuck is wrong with your teeth?"

Harry shuts his mouth, frowning. He stays silent. He listens to the gentle whistle of wind against the car window and avoids Liam's burning gaze.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were a damn vampire," Liam sighs, shaking his head. He stares through the smudge-covered windshield and watches the dimly-lit road.

Harry leans his head against the window and refuses to speak. He stares at the countless trees that line the side of the street, cluttered into a blur of green as they drive by.

"Fine, then," Liam mutters. "I guess we'll do this the hard way."

Harry doesn't know what he's implying, so he just sits in silence. He waits patiently with his hands folded in his lap until they reach Fool's Gold. He gulps when he sees the familiar neon sign flickering in the dark. Surprisingly, Liam leaves him alone and lets him change in the dressing room with the other dancers. He sits with Zayn on the sofa and smokes a joint, trying to relax and unwind his nervous thoughts.

He slips on his golden thong right before showtime. When he peeks out of the velvet curtain, he sees a significantly large crowd. He takes a deep breath, walks onstage, and lets his mind go numb as he twirls beneath the burning spotlight.

After his routine, Harry walks offstage with a pocketful of cash and a boosted ego. He received countless whistles and applause, accompanied by the occasional slap on his arse or thighs. Liam greets him on the main floor, arms crossed over his chest. His sharp jawline is covered up with his wiry beard, making him appear even older than he actually is.

"I want to speak to you privately," Liam instructs, grabbing his wrist.

His large hand clamps around him tightly. Harry whimpers as his boss drags him towards the dressing room, which is now completely empty. A thick cloud of smoke fogs up the room, making his vision blurry and distorted. Discarded clothing and makeup containers sprawl across the floor and furniture. Harry's eyes widen in fear. They're approaching the vanities with shiny mirrors and bright lights. One of the bulbs flickers from overuse.

"Liam, what are you doing?" Harry asks softly.

He doesn't give a verbal response. Instead, he grabs Harry's shoulders from behind and pins him up against the vanity, coming face-to-face with the dirty mirror. Liam curses when he sees Harry's lack of reflection. It looks like he's holding an empty figure. He blinks a few times, trying to reassure himself that it's real.

"Liam," Harry croaks, trying to push him away. His golden eyes burn with tears. "Please, I can explain—"

"Stay away from me!" Liam nearly screams, pushing him away. He steps back and grabs Jag's empty beer bottle from the coffee table. He cracks it against the edge, letting it break in two large pieces with jagged edges. He clutches the neck of the bottle and yields it as a weapon.

Harry raises his hands in defense. "Liam, please stop! I'm not going to hurt you!"

"Damn right you're not!" Liam swears, lips trembling. "Get out of here and never come back, understand?"

Harry shakes his head, warm tears slipping down his reddened cheeks. He feels a surge of panic and dread, like the whole world is crashing down on him. He hiccups through his sobs and tires to mutter out a weak explanation.

"Please stop," he whines. "I'm not dangerous, Liam!"

"Leave before I call the damn cops," he threatens, stepping closer, until the sharp edge of the bottle is pressed to the side of his throat. He can feel his breath on his neck. It smells like tequila and mints and fear. "Is that what you want? You want me to expose you and your freakish boyfriend?"

Harry slumps his shoulders. "No," he begs. "No, please don't."

"Then go," Liam grits. "I never wanna see your face again, got it?"

Harry gulps and pinches his eyes shut. He breathes in shakily, feeling the prick of sharp glass against his neck. "Okay," he whispers.

Liam releases his grasp, allowing him to sigh in relief. Before his boss can say anything else, Harry rushes outside, scrubbing the tears out of his eyes with his knuckles. He keeps his gaze downward as he yanks back the curtain and pushes through the crowd, searching for the back exit. The loud music vibrates through the floorboards and makes his stomach tremble. When he finds the door, he pushes it open with all his strength. He walks outside, wearing nothing but a golden thong, completely barefoot. The rough pavement feels like needles beneath his soles.

He reaches into his waistband and grabs his phone, which was stuffed next to a cluster of crumpled bills. His fingers shake nervously as he tries to dial Louis's number. A few tears drip down and splatter against his screen, so he wipes them away with his thumb, sniffling. He raises his phone to his ear and listens to the insistent ringing. He stands in the middle of the dark, leaning against the brick building, shivering in the cold.

"Hey, baby. Miss me already?" Louis answers, voice as smooth as warm caramel.

"Louis," Harry wheezes, "I'm s-so sorry! I r-ruined everything!"

Louis immediately registers the fear in his voice. "Calm down, love. Are you okay?" he asks, rustling with the phone a bit. "I've been busy with my lab work, so I haven't checked in on your thoughts lately."

Harry hiccups. "Liam knows about us," he chokes out. "About what we _are_."

Louis goes silent. It's a torturous kind of quietness that claws against Harry's ribcage, eating him alive. Eventually, he hears a quiet exhale.

"We have to relocate." 

 


	21. The Decision

Apologies pour from Harry's lips like a leaky faucet, dripping uncontrollably without conscious thought. He cries loudly in Louis's fancy car and stains the leather seat with salty tears. He hiccups through his weak sobs and tries to catch his breath, tries to stay calm, tries to be strong for Louis's sake. He already put them through enough. He exposed them, put their lives at risk, and it's all _his_ fault.

"Harry," Louis says sternly. "For the one hundredth time, stop crying."

Harry sniffles and scrubs his eyes with his knuckles. "I'm sorry—"

"And stop apologizing," Louis interrupts. "I told you I'm not angry, H. I'm just concerned about you."

"But you _should_ be angry, Lou!" Harry whimpers. "If I were you, I'd dump me on the side of the street and leave me behind."

Louis's grip tightens on the steering wheel. They're driving back to the cottage to pack their belongings and figure out a plan. It's pitch black outside with a crescent moon hanging in the sky, a sliver of white hope in the midst of darkness. The wind rustles through Harry's hair from his half-open window, filling his nose with the familiar scents of calming nighttime. Louis is driving faster than usual, probably speeding far over the limit, but he doesn't seem to care.

"I'm not going to abandon you because you made one small mistake," Louis promises softly. "I care about you, darling. You're my boyfriend."

"Yeah, an awful one."

"Don't say that," Louis snaps back.

Harry flinches at the sound of his voice. He shamefully stares down at his lap and focuses on his pale thighs. He's only wearing his golden thong with crumpled bills in the waistband, and his makeup is smudged from crying so much, and he probably looks like an absolute mess. Which makes him cry even harder.

"Babe," Louis hushes, rubbing his thumb over his bare knee. His skin is smooth and soft and covered with glitter. "I'm not mad at you, okay? This was bound to happen eventually."

Harry sighs quietly. "But I didn't want it to happen so soon," he frowns. "I have a life here, you know? I have friends and family."

"You don't care about your family."

"Yes, but they're still _here_ , in England."

"We can visit sometimes, H," Louis assures. "Besides, you have a phone. You can still talk to your mates."

"It's not the same, though."

"I know," Louis sympathizes. He removes his hand from Harry's leg and places it firmly on the wheel. They turn down Louis's road, where tall trees grow on each side, towering above power lines and cables. The lights of the city don't compare to the countless stars in the sky, glimmering above the dense woods.

"I just— I want to be strong for you, Lou, but I'm gonna miss Angel, and Jag, and all my other mates. I'm gonna miss my job and my flat downtown. I'm gonna miss our cabin."

Louis gulps. "I know, love. I've had to leave behind so many friends in my lifetime— so many people I cared about. But you need to understand that your safety comes first, okay? Liam _threatened_ you."

Harry nods numbly. "Yeah, I get it."

Louis bites his lip as he flicks on his turning signal, approaching their dimly-lit gravelly driveway. They follow the steep hill that leads to the cottage, twisting around various curves like a coiled snake. Out here, in the middle of nowhere, it feels like they're the only two people on earth. Like they have the entire world to themselves.

The older man lets out a soft breath as he parks in front of the log cabin. He turns the key to switch it off. The loud engine suddenly becomes quiet, leaving nothing but silence between them. Louis takes a few seconds to recollect his thoughts and compose a plan in his head. Where they should go, if they should change their names, when they should leave. The sooner the better, he decides.

"I'm sorry for getting us into this mess," Harry whispers, voice full of shame and guilt.

"Hey, don't be sorry," Louis hums, playing with the ringlet curls on his nape. "To be honest, I'm kinda excited to relocate. This is the first time I've started over with someone. I've always been on my own, y'know? Alone. But now I have _you_."

Harry gives a delicate, broken smile. Leave it to Louis Tomlinson to add some positivity to every gloomy situation.

Louis grins in response and kisses his cheek. His cold, lifeless lips linger on his skin for a moment, hovering over his dimple. His breath feels like frosty air from a freezer.

 _Everything will be alright, as long as we're together_.

Harry shivers at the sound of Louis's voice echoing in his head. He nods in agreement and squeezes his boyfriend's frigid hand. "I know. We'll be okay."

After a few cutesy Eskimo kisses and a peck or two, they climb out of Louis's Porsche and enter the rustic cabin. The air feels significantly cooler inside, almost _too_ cold, even for a vampire. Harry kicks off his shoes at the doormat and plops down on the couch. His legs ache from his tedious dance routine, which always leaves his body sore and stiff. He props up his feet on the coffee table and pats the empty space next to him, inviting Louis to sit down.

Louis rolls his eyes and complies, slotting right next to Harry, wrapping an arm around his shoulder. He smells like alcohol, body oil, and other men. The latter of which makes his brain burn with possessiveness.

"You're _mine_ ," Louis hisses, nibbling on the side of Harry's neck with his fangs.

The stripper tenses up at the sharp sensation. It's almost addicting. He whimpers as Louis starts licking his tongue over the fresh mark, soothing over the bitten flesh.

"Yours," he chokes out, letting his eyes flutter.

Louis hums with satisfaction as he pulls back. He examines the spit-covered hickey for a moment before meeting Harry's burning gaze. He clears his throat. "I reckon we should think of a place to relocate."

"You're such a tease, Lou," Harry pouts.

Louis snickers. "I'm serious, H. We don't have time to play."

"But—"

"What about Australia?" Louis prompts, raising an eyebrow. "You always mentioned how much you like the beach."

"Yeah, back when I was a _human_ ," Harry scoffs, trying to suppress his flustered urges. Louis pretends he doesn't notice the flush of his cheeks and his rapid breathing. "Beaches are very sunny. Sunshine and vampires don't mix well."

Louis nods slowly. "Point taken."

"We could move to the States."

"Well, that's quite broad," Louis teases. "Where in particular?"

Harry shrugs. "I dunno. Somewhere... rural, like the countryside."

"Rural," Louis echos thoughtfully. "What about Tennessee?"

"Too hot," Harry says, wrinkling his nose. "I was thinking somewhere out west."

Louis runs his fingers through his fringe, sighing thoughtfully. He knows moving somewhere bucolic would make their lives easier. It's the best way to hide their true identities. Plus, unexplained deaths often go unnoticed and unresolved in countryside areas.

"Montana?" Louis suggests. "I've been there before, during my trip to Yellowstone. It's really beautiful. Quite mountainous, too."

Harry practically lights up like a Christmas tree. Louis will never grow tired of seeing his golden irises flare with enthusiasm. He loves every detail of his animated expressions— the crease in his brow when he's confused, the clench of his teeth when he's angry, the puffiness of his lips when he's horny. But excitement is his favorite, Louis decides. He looks like the actual sun.

"That sounds perfect! We can be farmers," Harry giggles, leaning his head on Louis's shoulder. His curls tickle underneath his chin, but he doesn't seem to mind.

"Wait, H," Louis frowns, pulling back slightly. "But you love stripping, don't you?"

Harry hesitates and blinks confusedly. "I mean, yeah. It's my job... or at least it _was_."

"I don't want you to stop doing what you love," Louis says, shaking his head. He holds Harry's larger hands in his own.

"I doubt there are many stripclubs in rural Montana," Harry chuckles dryly.

"Then we'll _find_ one."

Harry lets out a shaky breath. "I like being a stripper, but we've learned first-hand that it's not safe for vampires. It's a very high-profile job."

"But—"

"I can just find another job," Harry promises with sincerity. "And don't worry, I'll still give you some private shows."

Louis tilts his head as a goofy smile settles on his lips. "How did I get so lucky?" he asks rhetorically, kissing the top of his messy curls. "I don't know how I wound up with such a perfect boyfriend."

"Well, you stereotyped me and tried to kill me," Harry says, laughing under his breath.

Louis pauses. They hardly ever talk about the crazy train of events that lead to them to where they are now. Back then, when they first met at Fool's Gold, they were two different people. They both changed each other in the best ways possible.

"I, um," Louis says, clearing his throat. "I think I love you."

Harry freezes in his grasp. He looks up nervously with his bottom lip bitten with his fangs. He stares into Louis's silver irises with a look of uncertainty, metallic blue meeting flaming gold. Ice and fire.

"You don't have to say it back," Louis promises, rubbing his arm comfortably. He feels goosebumps peppering his milky skin. "I just needed to get it off my chest."

Harry nods wordlessly with glossy, unfocused eyes. Louis can't decode his expression. It's a mixture of fear and surprise. "Okay."

Louis's heart deflates. He knows he shouldn't have expected Harry to say it back; after all, he's always been hesitant with commitment. But before he can dwell on the humiliating rejection, Harry decides to change topics.

"So," he murmurs, "should we, um, start looking for houses online?"

Louis's jaw tightens. "Yeah, sure. I'll go fetch my laptop."

He steps into his office for a minute or two, pacing back and forth, running his hands through his feathery hair. He shouldn't have said it. He should've just kept his stupid feelings locked up in his brain. The last thing he wants is to scare Harry away and lose him again.

"Lou?" Harry calls distantly from the nearby living room. "Are you alright?"

Louis scrubs a hand down his tired face. He quickly grabs his laptop, tucking it under his arm. He returns to the living room sofa with a false smile plastered on his face.

"Yeah, babe. I'm fine."

~

"I kinda like this one," Harry says dully, pointing to the small ranch-styled home. The pictures show an expansive front lawn with a flower garden and lush, verdant grass. There's a beautiful view in the background— snow-capped mountains and endless pine trees. Harry can't even imagine having that kind of beauty in his own backyard.

" 's pretty small," Louis mumbles, scrolling further down the page with his cursor. The glow of the laptop screen makes his cheekbones look sharp and hollow. "What about this one?"

It's significantly larger than the previous house, complete with white siding and a big garage. The wraparound porch is supported by beautiful pillars. A stone path leads to the front door, carving through the green lawn. It even has a gazebo in the yard with dark screening, surrounded by multicolored flowers.

"I love it," Harry says truthfully, showing his dimples.

"It's beautiful, innit? Eighty-seven acres of land, just a few miles north of Whitehall. I think it's perfect."

Harry squints at the bolded price on the screen. "Yeah, but it's quite expensive."

"Money isn't an issue," Louis insists, shaking his head.

Harry rolls his eyes. "That's something rich people say."

"Well if that's the case, I guess I'm your sugar daddy," Louis teases, squeezing his boyfriend's pudgy waist.

"No," Harry giggles in his grasp. "You're just my daddy."

A certain light ignites in Louis's eyes. Desire, perhaps. "Is that so?" he says raspily.

Harry smirks and kisses the side of his neck. The glitter from his lipgloss lingers on his caramel skin. He kisses up the column of his throat and nibbles beneath his ear, making his entire body twitch. Louis inhales a sharp breath of surprise.

"Baby," he purrs, pushing his overheated laptop aside. Harry immediately straddles his waist, planting his naked thighs on either side of him. He kisses the corner of his mouth before attaching their lips. He grinds down against Louis's crotch, feeling the outline of his dick in his speckled joggers.

"I didn't know real estate turned you on," Louis chuckles, roaming his hands up and down his sides, feeling the ridges of his ribcage. He rubs his thumb over Harry's left nipple, causing him to jolt and gasp against his ear. He smirks and rubs the pink nub between his fingers, teasing him.

"I thought we didn't have time to play," Harry says, mocking what Louis said earlier.

"We don't have to _play_ ," Louis explains, scratching his dull nail over his nipple. Harry whimpers in the back of his throat. His cock is starting to harden in his tight thong, stretching the golden fabric. "Wanna make love to you this time."

Harry whines and kisses him again, messy and wet and urgent. Louis stands up with ease as Harry wraps his long, shaved legs around his waist, allowing himself to be carried. Louis sucks on his bottom lip as he blindly guides them to his bedroom, where white moonlight filters through half-closed blinds. He lays Harry down gently, as if he's made of breakable china, which catches him off guard. He knows this isn't like their previous sexual encounters. This isn't about exploring kinks and getting off and pushing each other's boundaries. Louis wants this to be an act of gentle love, even if Harry isn't capable of reciprocating it yet.

The older man grabs the hem of his black t-shirt and slips it over his messy hair. Harry scrambles to peel off his thong, shimming it down his oily legs. His half-hard cock lies flat against his stomach, glistening at the tip, aching for some sort of friction. He can't help but stare at the black tattoo across Louis's collarbones, right above his patch of chest hair.

"You're so beautiful," Louis says breathlessly, watching the younger boy with porcelain skin, puffy lips, perky nipples, and reddened cheeks. He fetches the half-empty bottle of lube they left on the nightstand and drizzles some onto his palm. Without another word, he grips the base of Harry's cock and pumps him a few times, causing him to kick his legs with pleasure.

"Lou," Harry croaks, lashes fluttering.

Louis licks his lips and rubs his thumb over the head. "Look at you, all naked and pretty. Should be illegal for someone to be this gorgeous."

Harry moans and thrusts up into his closed fist, jolting his hips sporadically. "Fuck me," he begs, voice raw and dry.

"I will, sweetheart. Gonna make you feel so good," Louis promises.

He kisses the tip of his length before grabbing the lube again, spreading some onto his fingers messily. He slowly eases two inside of Harry, pressing past the tight barrier of his entrance. The stripper gasps and rocks down against his thick digits, urging him deeper. He'll never grow tired of Louis's fingers. His own are longer, but they're also more slender and bony. Louis's girthier fingers can stretch him better than he ever could.

Louis spreads his fingers to scissor him open, feeling his muscles clench around him. Sweat sticks to Harry's forehead and attaches bits of dark hair to his temples. The stretch and burn in his lower abdomen is driving him near insanity, craving more and more and more.

Reading his frustrated thoughts, he extracts his fingers and scrambles towards the bedside drawer. He grabs a condom and tears open the paper packet urgently. He takes off his skin-tight jeans and Calvin Klein pants before gripping his erection. He rolls the disc over his fully-hard cock and leaves some slack at the tip. He pumps his lube-covered fist over his dick a few more times as an extra precaution.

"Ready, baby?"

"Yes," Harry groans, hooking his legs around his waist to pull him closer.

Louis smirks and hovers over the gold-eyed boy. He lines up with his stretched hole, but before he pushes in, he kisses the side of his neck, right over his scar. Right over the mark that bonded them together in the first place.

He thrusts in and watches Harry's face, searching for any signs of discomfort. He wipes his curls out of his eyes and kisses the side of his throat again. Harry whimpers and subtly rocks down against him.

"Are you okay, darling?" Louis asks, sweet and gentle.

"Yeah," Harry murmurs, pink lips falling open around a silent moan. "Fuck, Louis, you feel so good."

Louis starts hammering his hips as he breathes hotly into his neck. He hits his prostate repeatedly, causing the boy beneath him to squirm and moan. He keeps his thrusts at a steady rhythm and continues to pound into him. It's hot and messy, but it's _different_. This time, there aren't any murmurs of "daddy" or playful teases. It's just genuine love.

"Wait, I— erm, Lou?" Harry stutters, voice shaking with each powerful thrust.

Louis stills his movements instantly, in fear of hurting him. "Yes?"

"Can I ride you?" he asks shyly, as if Louis might actually reject his proposition. Which, he wouldn't. Never in a billion years.

"Yeah, darling. I just want you to feel good, okay?"

Harry nods, sweaty curls bouncing, as Louis pulls out for a brief moment. They switch positions, Harry stradling Louis's hips, and sinks back down on his length. It feels different this way— fuller, tighter, hotter. He starts rocking back and forth before he lifts up and slams back down. They both moan simultaneously. Harry takes that as sign to keep going.

Harry rides him like a pro, using his stripper moves to his advantage. He knows how to move his hips in a perfect, sensual way. The thick drag of Louis's length inside of him feels indescribable. It's too much and not enough at the same time. He speeds up his movements and starts bouncing up and down ungracefully, hair falling over his face like a curtain. He grips Louis's shoulders and claws his painted nails into his skin.

"Close," Louis pants out, looking up at Harry like he hung the moon. Like he's the most magnificent creature to ever walk the earth.

"Oh my god," Harry gasps as Louis lifts his hips slightly, ramming into his sweet spot. He rocks against him and lifts up before sinking back down.

"Wanna come?" Louis asks, watching Harry's painful erection.

"Yes, please," Harry whimpers, eyes screwed shut with pleasure.

Louis reaches forward and grips his cock, allowing Harry to let out a tremulous sigh. He pumps his fist in sync with his thrusts, and after only a few more strokes, he comes. He releases all over his stomach as he rides Louis through his orgasm, letting some come drip on Louis's chest beneath him.

Louis reaches his orgasm only a few seconds later and comes into the condom, feeling Harry's tight body pulse and clench around him. Harry practically collapses on top of him, pressing his face into his neck, right beneath his bobbing Adam's apple.

The older man sighs and traces gentle patterns on Harry's smooth, ice-cold back. Harry just murmurs something unintelligible and slowly climbs off of him. He sprawls out on the other side of the bed, completely fucked-out and boneless. Louis pulls off the condom and discards it in the bin next to his bed. Then, he snatches a few paper tissues from the colorful box and wipes off the drying come on both their chests.

"What a messy boy," Louis laughs, eyes crinkling with delight.

"Shut up and cuddle me," Harry grumbles, turning on his side. Louis smiles smugly and wraps an arm around his waist, pressing his chest to his back. The stripper can feel him grinning when he presses a soft kiss to the back of his neck.

"I should probably book us a flight to Montana," Louis hums thoughtfully.

"In the morning," Harry protests, voice thick of exhaustion. "Wanna snuggle first."

 _Snuggle_. Honestly, he can't possibly be a full-grown man in his early-twenties. He's like an adorable, chubby-faced child.

"Okay," Louis agrees because he could never deny Harry of cuddles. "I love you."

Harry tenses up in his grasp. "Louis, I want to say it back because I know it'll make you happy, and I like making you happy, but I just—"

"It's alright," Louis reassures. "Don't say it if you don't mean it."

Harry gulps.  "It's just kinda scary to me— the whole concept of love.  Please don't be offended.  I  _really_ do care about you."

Louis curls his fingers through his hair, trying to soothe him.  "It's okay.  Get some rest, darling."

Harry drifts off into a light state of slumber, dreaming about snowy Montana mountains and open fields.  


	22. The Departure

Luggage and overflowing suitcases rattle in the boot of Louis's car, toppling each time he twists around a curve or turns at an intersection. Because they're in a hurry to flee the country, Louis abandoned most of his belongings at the cottage. He only kept a handful of antiques, various memorabilias, and whatever clothes he could fit in a small carry-on bag. He has a fake ID card in his back pocket, claiming he was born in 1991. He couldn't possibly pass for 226 years old, despite Harry constantly teasing him for being an "old man."

Louis's porsche speeds towards the downtown city, where tall luminous buildings and neon signs light up the horizon. He thrives in the nighttime. He loves the comforting white glow of the crescent moon, the crisp air, the warm radiance of headlights. The danger and mystery. Even before he became a vampire, he loved the natural state of darkness. He remembers the beautiful stars in France and the relief of flickering candles.

He keeps one hand on the leather-bound steering wheel and rests the other on Harry's thigh. He rubs his thumb over his knee in an attempt to calm him. Even though he says he's okay, that he's excited to relocate, Louis knows he's nervous deep down. He's scared to leave his home, his friends, his job, his entire life— and even though he won't admit it, he's scared to leave his family, too.

"We don't have to stop at my flat," Harry says quietly, staring out the window to avoid eye contact. He watches the pavement along the side of the road, where scantily-clad girls in stilettos stand beneath street lamps.

Louis frowns. "But you still have to pack, love."

"I have nothing worth bringing."

Louis raises an eyebrow. "Nothing?"

"I live in a dump, Lou. If you haven't noticed by now, my life is far from extravagant."

The older vampire stays silent. A small beat of quietness passes between them. "Shouldn't you at least tell your landlord you're leaving?"

Harry lets out a dry, one-syllabled laugh. "My landlord hates me. He'll be happy when I'm gone."

"He _hates_ you?" Louis says with a fake gasp. "But that's impossible."

Harry scoffs. "He thinks I'm a slut."

Louis curls his lip in a silent snarl. A wave of protectiveness floods his mind with rage. He can't imagine anyone treating Harry poorly or making him feel bad about himself. He deserves nothing but kindness. "What an areshole."

"Well, it's true," Harry murmurs.

"What's true?"

"That I'm a slut."

Louis glances at him for a split second before returning his attention to the road. His forehead is creased with confusion and concern. "Where is all of this self-hatred coming from? What happened to the confident boy I fell in love with?"

Harry sighs at length. "I'm fine, I just— I'm having doubts."

Louis's heart sinks, like a stone plunging into the dark, dangerous depths of Mariana's trench. "Doubts about us?"

Harry shakes his head. "No, of course not."

Relief surges through his veins. "Okay, then what are you having doubts about?"

"Us moving to Montana," Harry exhales, picking at a hole in his skinny jeans. "It seems lovely, and I'd love to live on a farm with you, but I— I've been a stripper ever since I was a teenager. What if I can't find another job? What if being a slut is my _only_ talent?"

Louis flicks on his turning signal as they approach an intersection. Whilst he waits for the light to turn green, he stares at Harry with a look of sincerity. "Listen, H, do you remember what you told me when I called you a pole slut? You said it wasn't funny, that it was degrading. You said you preferred to be called a stripper or an exotic dancer because your job doesn't define your self worth."

Harry doesn't reply. He just stares out the window to avoid Louis's silver eyes.

"So stop beating yourself up," Louis begs. "Please."

Harry sniffles and wipes his eyes with the back of his hand. "You're right. I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry," Louis assures, squeezing his hand.

"I guess I'm just— I dunno. Emotional."

Louis smiles smugly. "You're such a typical fledgling. Young and emotional."

Harry laughs and elbows him in the stomach. "Shut up."

Louis just smiles and continues driving through the darkness. Above him, silver moonlight bleeds through his sunroof. The nighttime makes him feel more energetic, like he can accomplish anything, like nothing can stop him. It makes him feel _alive_ , despite his death-like state of eternal youth.

"Actually, can we stop at my flat? I changed my mind," Harry pipes up, nervously fiddling with the rings on his fingers.

Louis grins and nods before turning down Harry's street. His complex building is five stories high with balconies on each apartment, complete with iron fences and sliding glass doors. Colorful cars line the side of the road. Louis knows this is an impoverished part of town, for lack of a better word. Some of the windows are cracked, held together with tape. The roof's shingles are faded and damaged from harsh weather. From outside, they can hear loud music blaring from one of the nearby homes.

Louis parks his porsche next to a beat-up minivan, dented and infested with rust. These destitute conditions make uncomfortable, like he's utterly out of place. Being in this environment feels strange and unfamiliar. He's become accustomed to living a lavish life. He inherited his riches from his past lives— his voyages with Darwin, his time spent in Ontario, his short-lived experience as an esteemed cardiologist. Most of his money, however, was gained from selling rare antiques. Being a 226 year-old vampire has its perks.

"Wanna come inside?" Harry asks, bringing him back to reality.

"Yeah, sure."

They hold hands as they walk in the front door. The lobby is completely empty, since it's three o'clock in the morning on a Tuesday. A welcome mat rests in front of the door, covered with mud and dirt, frayed around the edges. Harry leads them up the metal staircase, explaining that the lift hardly ever works, but the landlord's too cheap to fix it.

When they reach Harry's apartment, he unlocks the door with his key and steps inside. Louis follows closely behind and shuts the door behind them. Harry has mastered the ability of masking his poorness with a false sense of financial security. He covers up the holes in the walls with picture frames. He puts rugs over the carpet stains. He hides everything that suggests he's incompetent for caring for himself.

"I have a spare carry-on bag in my car," Louis recalls. "You can use it."

Harry nods. He grabs a dozen picture frames, his sparkly boots, two pairs of skinny jeans, and a his favourite floral blouse. He struggles to carry it all, so Louis grabs the picture frames and tucks them under his arm. Before they leave, Harry drops his key on the front desk in the lobby, never to return.

-

Their flight is scheduled to leave at the ungodly hour of 5:30 in the morning. They manage to get past security by four o'clock, so they have plenty of time to spare. While they wait for their plane to arrive, Louis and Harry sit in the departure lounge in comfortable chairs. Large glass windows line the wall, giving them a perfect view of the landing strip. Harry taps on his phone whilst Louis leans on his shoulder, trying to take a well-needed nap.

The rest of the airport is fairly empty. The area is almost completely silent, filled only with muffled voices over intercoms and the clicking of high heels on tiled floors. Harry plugs in his earbuds and listens to Ed Sheeran on repeat, hoping his soothing voice will calm his anxiety. They have a nine hour flight to their layover in Detroit, followed by an additional five hours to Billings, Montana. He's never flown _anywhere_ before. While Louis has traveled the entire globe, Harry's never left the comfortable borders of England.

Suddenly, whilst lost in his thoughts, his phone buzzes. He narrows his eyes at his screen to see it's an incoming call from Zayn. He knows he can't answer.

Zayn is his best mate, and they usually tell each other everything, whether it's helpful tips for dance routines or their deepest, darkest secrets. It tears him apart to hide the truth from him. Thanks to Liam, he has to flee the country without telling him. He has to break his heart. He has to move away from his closest friend, on the other side of the world.

Thankfully, Zayn leaves a voicemail. Harry needs to hear his voice, to make sure he's safe, so he listens to it immediately.

" _Hey, mate. It's me... Angel. Liam told me you're , um, moving to the states abruptly,_ " Zayn begins, voice quieter than usual. " _I just— I hope you're safe. I'm really worried about you. We used to tell each other everything, remember?_ " He pauses for a few seconds. Harry can hear chatter in the background, probably from Fool's Gold. " _But ever since you met Louis, you've been so... secretive. It feels like I don't even know you anymore, and I— I really miss you, Rose. I dunno what I did to make you not want to talk to me, but I'm really sorry._ " Harry can tell he's on the verge of tears. " _Please be safe, Rose. Take care_."

When the message ends, his phone beeps in his ear. Harry feels an aching burn in his chest and a quiver in his throat. A single tear rolls down his porcelain cheek, wet and cold. He sniffles again and scrubs his eyes with his knuckles.

Louis perks up, lifting his head from his shoulder. "Are you alright?" he asks, voice thick of exhaustion.

Harry shakes his head, dropping his gaze to his lap. "Zayn rang me. He's really upset. Liam told him I'm leaving."

Louis frowns. "I'm sorry, love. I know how difficult it is to leave friends behind."

"I just _—_ I wish we didn't have to go," Harry murmurs. "I wish we could just kill Liam and stay here, so I could keep my job and all my mates."

Louis tilts his head. "You know we can't do that, H. Liam is a very successful, well-known businessman. The police wouldn't let his murder go unsolved."

"I know," Harry says quietly.

"Everything will be alright," Louis promises, resting his hand on his thigh. "It's not easy to leave your entire life behind, but your safety is our first priority, okay?"

Harry just nods silently, staring at the floor to avoid eye contact. He can't look at Louis right now _—_ not when he's feeling so weak and vulnerable. Without saying a word, Louis hooks his arm around Harry's shoulder and presses a gentle kiss to his temple.

 _Stay strong for me, baby_.

Harry wipes away the tears from his eyes. "I'll try."

Thirty minutes later, their plane arrives to whisk them away to a new world. As they pass through the jetway tunnel to board it, Louis rubs his thumb over the back of Harry's hand. His touch immediately sends him into a state of sudden calmness.

Eventually, they find their seats and stuff their carry-on bags in the overhead compartment. The interior of the plane is sleek and modern, with grey, comfortable seats and television screens on the backs of the chairs. Harry chooses to sit next to the window, deciding he might want to take some photos of the clouds.

After they settle into their seats, Harry snuggles up next to Louis, using his shoulder as a makeshift pillow. He doesn't seem to mind.

"Remember how you said you get a new tattoo for each of your lives?" Harry asks softly.

Louis hums. "Yes, dear."

"Well, I want to get one, too. For _us_."

Louis smiles at the suggestion. He curls his fingers through Harry's hair, toying with his pretty ringlets. "That's a great idea, baby."

Harry giggles with excitement. "Perhaps I'll get a rose."

Whilst they wait for their flight to take off, Harry traces the tattoos on Louis's bare arms, smoothing over the large stag on his bicep and the quotation marks on his wrist. Louis gazes down at him like he's some sort of godly being. Like he's the purest form of love and endearment.

"Can we buy a horse for our farm?" Harry asks randomly. Louis admires his spontaneous nature.  "I mean, not _now_ , obviously, but eventually?"

Louis smirks. "Sure. After all, you've always been skilled at riding things."

Harry gasps and smacks his arm playfully. He leans in closer, trying not to disturb the elderly couple sitting next to them. "No teasing, Daddy," he whispers.

Louis's breath hitches as he shifts in his seat uncomfortably. Arousal simmers in his stomach, making his body flush with heat. He sends Harry a stern glare.

"Don't be naughty," he warns, lowering his voice.

Harry just smirks and bites his lip adorably. "Sorry, Daddy. You can punish me later."

Louis groans with frustration and leans back in his seat, letting out a tired sigh. "This is going to be a long plane ride."


	23. The Arrival

"Love," Louis murmurs, brushing loose curls out of Harry's eyes. Even though vampires don't need sleep to survive, the young fledgling decided to take a well-needed rest whilst cuddled up next to his boyfriend. He felt both physically and emotionally drained. It seemed as though everyone was slipping away from him— his friends, his family, his job, his home. The only thing he had left was Louis. He wanted to hold onto him for as long as possible.

"Love, wake up," Louis repeats softly. "We're about to land."

Their nine hour flight to Michigan ended up being ten hours and fifteen minutes. When they arrived at their layover in Detroit, they only had thirty minutes to spare before they boarded their next flight to Montana. The second plane was much smaller than the first. It didn't have screens on the backs of the seats or electric reclining. It was tiny, simple, and a little rickety thanks to turbulence.

Harry stirs in his slumber before blinking back to reality. He lets out an adorable, squeaky yawn and rubs his tired eyes with his knuckles. "Wha'?"

Louis chuckles, squeezing his shoulder gently. "We're flying above Montana, silly boy. Look out the window."

Harry blinks a few times and turns towards the oval-shaped window. They're flying above a sea of green trees and rocky terrain. He sees wide, open fields and a beautiful ribbon of blue, Yellowstone River, carving its way through snow-capped mountains. The sun is starting to set in the azure sky, shimmering and casting an orange hue across the land.

"Woah," Harry exhales, already opening the camera app on his phone.

He takes a few pictures of the beautiful landscape as the airplane descends towards Billings. Tightly-packed neighborhoods thread through the city with giant buildings and distant mountains, bordered by tall cliffs. The airport sits atop a flat plateau.

"Don't post those online," Louis says flatly, lips pressed in a thin line.

Harry raises an eyebrow. "Why not?"

"I don't want Liam to find us."

"He won't find us, okay? I promise."

Louis bites his lip hesitantly. "I'd just feel a lot more comfortable if you stayed off the radar for a while. I'd never be able to live with myself if something bad happened to you."

Harry sighs. "Liam may be an arsehole at times, but he's _not_ a murderer."

He genuinely means it, too. When Harry dropped out of university and fled from his hometown, Liam took him under his wing. He gave him a job and a place to live. He helped him forget about his family and forgotten friends back in Holmes Chapel. He gave his life a new purpose. Without Liam, Harry'd probably be on the streets selling his arse for money.

Louis rubs the back of Harry's hand soothingly. "I know Liam's not a bad guy, love, but he could still expose us. He could tell someone we're vampires."

"I doubt anyone would believe him. They'd send him to a psych ward."

"But our lives are still in danger," Louis retorts. "Liam threatened you, H. It's not worth the risk."

Harry nibbles on the inside of his cheek and glances down at his phone. He stares at the new pictures in his save file. Normally he'd post them on Instagram without a second thought, trying to think of a clever caption or hashtag, but he trusts Louis's protective instincts. If Louis wants him to keep his life private, he will. At least for a little while.

"Fine," Harry huffs, locking his phone. "These are for your eyes only."

Louis grins and kisses his cheek, causing him to dimple and blush. "Thanks, baby."

Harry hums and leans into his touch. He buries his face in his shoulder as the plane approaches the landing strip, causing his stomach to drop sharply. When the plane finally comes to a stop, he lets out a sigh or relief. They wait patiently in their seats until they're told to exit. Loud chatter surrounds them as other passengers look eagerly out their windows.

"Y'know, I really appreciate you being so... understanding," Louis says quietly. "Most people would freak out if their significant other asked them to flee the country."

Harry's head quirks up. "Well, I mean, it's _my_ fault Liam found out about us."

"But it's my fault you're a vampire in the first place," Louis reminds him, eyes turning cold.

"Do you regret it?"

"Regret what?"

"Biting me. Turning me."

"Of course I regret it," Louis scoffs, as if it was obvious. "I ruined your life."

Harry squints at him, sitting upright. "You think you ruined my life?"

"Well, yeah."

"Louis, my life was fucking miserable before I met you," Harry admits. "I was constantly doing drugs and drinking to get through my everyday routine. I had nobody to turn to except my co-workers and Liam. I wasn't really living; I was just, y'know, alive."

"But now you're dead," Louis mumbles and avoids eye contact. "All thanks to me."

"No, you're wrong, Lou," Harry reassures, touching his hand. He can't help but smile at the rope tattoo on his wrist. As if fate designed them, it lines up perfectly with his anchor. "I've never felt more alive. You gave my life meaning again."

"You don't have to say that to make me feel better," Louis frowns. "I know what I did was wrong. I stereotyped you and tried to kill you. I can never take that back."

"But—"

The intercom speaker crackles above them. " _Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Billings. Thank you for choosing Delta Airlines. As you exit the plane, make sure to gather all of your belongings in the overhead compartment._ "

Without saying another word, Louis stands up and grabs their matching carry-on suitcases. Harry chose the pink one, of course. It compliments his silky Yves Saint Laurent shirt, which Louis insisted upon buying him a few weeks prior despite his initial reluctance. They walk down the aisle silently and shuffle through the jetway tunnel side-by-side. Harry desperately wants to hold his hand and express his excitement because, holy shit. They're _actually_ in the states.

But Louis seems different now. Less warm, perhaps. Like he's built up a wall between them that Harry can't break. He wishes Louis didn't regret biting him. It was poor judgement at first, of course, but didn't it lead to their relationship? It lead to them falling for each other and bonding. If Louis regrets turning him into a vampire, does he regret falling in love with him, too?

Before he can dwell on his sadness, Louis nudges his shoulder, beckoning for him to follow. They begin walking through the small airport. The floors are covered in large tiles, reflecting light from the wide, open windows. Outside, Harry can see mountains fading into the distance, overlapped with fog.

"Our new house is three hours west of here," Louis speaks up, voice hoarse. "Hopefully we'll be there by midnight."

Harry blinks a few times. "How are we getting there? We don't have a car yet."

"We're taking the train. It'll bring us directly to Whitehall, and then we'll take a taxi to our home," Louis rambles, purposely avoiding Harry's gaze.

Eventually, they reach the main exit. They walk outside and are hit by a rush of cold air. The streets are fairly busy at this time of evening. The atmosphere is filled with cars honking, distant airplane jets, and pedestrian conversations. Harry still can't believe his eyes as he looks out towards the skyline, seeing nothing but endless green and white-tipped peaks.

"The train station is two blocks from here," Louis grumbles, rolling his suitcase behind him. The rubber wheels bounce over the cracks in the pavement.

"Wait, babe," Harry breathes out, grabbing Louis's wrist. His cheeks are tinted pink from the crisp wind. "Can we just, like, talk for a second?"

Louis shrugs him off and keeps walking. "Later. We can't miss the train. There won't be another one until sunrise, and I _really_ don't feel like finding a hotel tonight—"

"Lou, please!" Harry pleads desperately. "I can tell something's bothering you."

Louis slows down for a few seconds before halting completely. He turns around on his heel with a frown spread across his lips. "I don't want to talk about it right now. I'm exhausted. We'll discuss it later, okay?"

"No, it's not okay. _Clearly_ it's not okay."

"Baby, c'mon," Louis says impatiently. "I promise everything will be fine. Let's just board the train, get some sleep, and talk in the morning."

"I just—"

"Later," Louis interrupts, squishing Harry's cheeks between his palms. He can't help but smile when he kisses the tip of his nose. "I love you, alright? I'm just tired and grumpy, 's all."

Harry suspects something else is bothering him, but he nods anyway. So they continue to walk down the sidewalk towards the nearby train station, hands intertwined. They try to ignore the disgusted glares and weird looks from others. Apparently this part of Montana is far more homophobic than Manchester.

Whilst they wait for their train, they sit on a hard, metal bench beneath a bright street lamp. Louis wraps an arm around him in an attempt to keep him warm. Harry just smiles and pecks his lips to show his gratitude.

"We'll be home soon," Louis promises, glancing down at his watch. The train is scheduled to arrive within a few minutes. The tracks are covered with drifting litter, blowing in the breeze, and the concrete walls of the station are painted in graffiti.

Harry kisses him again and smiles against his lips. "I'm already home."

~

"It's been a busy day for us, hasn't it?" Louis muses. He starts walking up their new driveway with an arm wrapped around Harry's slim waist. "We took two planes, a train, and a taxi cab. I think we deserve a well-needed rest, hm?"

Harry doesn't answer; he just looks around with bewilderment. Their front lawn is green and vibrant, even in the middle of night's darkness. Above them, stars shine brightly in the sky, undisturbed by city lights. Their house is so secluded they can't hear a single sound of noise pollution— just the chirping of birds, rustling of wind, and distant howls of coyotes.

Their new house is magnificent, even prettier than anticipated. The photos online didn't do it justice. The white siding makes it blend into the natural landscape of snow-covered mountains and birch trees. Flowers line the side of the house in a beautiful garden, filled with red rose bushes, purple asters, and a small lilac bush outside the kitchen window.

Harry can't contain his excitement as he races up the porch steps, ignoring Louis completely. His suitcase drags behind him. Louis just chuckles and follows him with amusement.

"It's so beautiful!" Harry nearly screams, dropping his luggage on the shiny, hardwood floors. The foyer opens up to a large kitchen with granite countertops. "I have so much room to cook!" He runs his hands over the smooth counters and wooden cabinets.

Louis snorts. "We don't eat human food, love."

"But I can cook for guests! I've always wanted to be a chef, Louis!" Harry exclaims, gold-tinted eyes lighting up. "Oh my gosh, look at the living room!"

He scurries under the archway leading to the empty living room. They still need to purchase furniture, but the room is gigantic and beautiful on its own. The newly-installed carpet squishes beneath Harry's boots. Cream-colored paint coats the tall walls and arched ceiling.

"This is incredible, Lou!" Harry gasps, wrapping his arms around Louis's torso. He can feel him grinning against his shoulder. "I love it!"

Louis smiles and kisses his temple. "I'm glad you like it, baby."

Harry sighs happily walks down the hallway, pulling on Louis's hand like a enthusiastic child. There's two spare bedrooms on either side, in case they decide to keep company overnight, as well as a guest bathroom. At the end of the corridor, there's a large master bedroom with a huge, white door.

The young vampire walks inside without hesitation. Their room is ginormous with wide, open windows that overlook the seemingly endless fields. Their view is absolutely breath-taking. Back in Manchester, Harry's "view" consisted of dark alleyways and run-down shops.

"We'll get a king-sized bed with a canopy so you feel like a true princess," Louis promises, recalling Harry's love for canopied beds. "We can go furniture shopping in town tomorrow, yeah?"

"Yes, of course," Harry says, shaking his head with disbelief. This almost feels too good to be true, like he might wake up from a dream at any second. "This is the best, Louis. I've always wanted to live in a big house, but I've been stuck in that shitty flat for so long, I almost forgot what it feels like to have a _real_ home."

"It's all ours, baby," Louis assures, tucking some brunet hair behind Harry's ear. "I love you so much. You deserve all of this and more."

Harry feels so happy he could burst. "I can't believe you were able to buy this place at such short notice."

"Well, I have my connections," Louis says dismissively. "Let's just say one of my old vampire buddies is one of the best realtors in the Rocky Mountains region. Daddy knows how to do business."

Harry blushes and kisses him abruptly, tugging on his bottom lip with his fangs. Louis inhales out of surprise and kisses him back, gripping his shoulders with dull fingernails. He smooths over the marks in his flesh with his tongue.

"Let's go for a walk outside," Harry whispers against his cold, lifeless lips. "Wanna see the farm. Gotta find a place for a fence."

Louis hums with confusion. "A fence?"

Harry pouts and bats his eyelashes. "You promised me a horse, remember?"

Louis laughs dryly. "I dunno, baby. I'm having doubts. I might get jealous, y'know? You're supposed to ride _me_ ," he says sarcastically.

The younger boy giggles and slaps Louis's chest. "Shut up. Enough of your stupid jokes about riding your dick. I promise we'll defile this house as soon as we get an actual mattress."

Louis raises an eyebrow. "Oh, really?"

"Really," Harry murmurs, ducking his head, trying his best not to seem flustered.

"Who says we need a mattress? We have a shower," Louis teases, grabbing Harry's hips firmly. He squeezes his pudgy love handles.

Harry rolls his eyes. "Maybe in the morning, but right now, I _really_ wanna take a walk with you. It'd be romantic, wouldn't it? Exploring our new farm beneath the stars and moonlight like proper night-dwelling vampires."

Louis slumps his shoulders with defeat and clasps Harry's hand, holding it in his own, despite their size difference. They walk out through the back sliding glass door and follow the dirt path that loops through the farm. Faded tire tracks are still visible within the sand. Harry uses the torch on his phone for guidance as they maneuver through pitch blackness. Even though his vampiric vision lets him see in the dark, his phone's light helps him feel a little more human. A little more _normal_.

The silver-eyed vampire tries his best to act as though nothing is wrong. He giggles whenever Harry cracks a lame joke and even tries to spark up conversations about house decorating and horse adoption. But deep down, he knows their struggles have only just begun.

Although they've relocated and run away from their pasts, their battle is far from over.  


	24. The Initiation

Everywhere he looks, Harry sees an infinite world of unfamiliarity. He sees foreign landscapes, uncharted territory, and intimidating mountain ranges sprawled across the dark horizon. Over the years, he’s become accustomed to the busy city of Manchester— crowded streets and tightly-packed buildings. Now, he feels like a fish jumping out of a small bowl, diving into a realm of suffocating freedom.

He walks down the endless dirt path, holding Louis’s hand securely. The warmth of nighttime surrounds them in a blanket of sweat and humidity. They pass by abandoned corn fields and old, trampled cow pastures. The scenery reminds Harry of those default computer wallpapers with rolling plains of fresh, green grass. It’s soothing. He could definitely get used to having this natural beauty in his own backyard.

As part of their property purchase, they were given a horse barn in the far east corner of the farm. Harry giggles with excitement as they approach the large building with red aluminum siding. It’s taller than anticipated, complete with huge double doors and exterior windows for each animal stall. The barn was recently restored, giving the metal cladding a shiny appearance.

“It’s so pretty!” Harry says breathlessly, tugging on Louis’s wrist excitably.

Louis chuckles. “I’m glad you like it, babe.”

He releases Louis’s hand and tries to open the barn doors. He tugs on the metal handle and attempts to slide it open, but nothing happens. He furrows his eyebrows before noticing the rusty chain and secured padlock. He frowns and turns towards his boyfriend.

“Do you have a key?”

Louis smirks and rummages through his pocket. He fishes out a ring with three different keys attached— one for the house, barn, and storage shed.

Harry pouts. “Why’d you let me try to open it if you knew it was locked?”

“Because you’re cute when you’re frustrated, darling,” Louis says passively, sticking the correct key in the padlock. He twists it once, releasing an audible _click_. He unlocks the heavy door and slides it open with ease.

Harry sticks out his tongue before walking inside. The floor is covered with hard concrete and a dusty layer of brown dirt. Louis quickly flicks on the switch near the door to turn on the antique-styled lights. Wooden beams stretch above them, forming a pretty frame. Each of the stalls contain freshly-laid straw. The air smells like dust and metallic rust.

“There’s so much space in here!” Harry muses, emerald eyes filled with wonder. His voice echoes throughout the barn.

Louis smiles fondly at him. He loves seeing Harry so happy. It gives his life purpose, something to chase after. Something to make his endless days worthwhile.

“What’s wrong?” Harry asks suspiciously, noticing Louis’s silence.

Louis lets out an airy laugh. “Nothing, baby. I’m just glad you’re happy, ‘s all.”

A faint blush creeps on Harry’s cheeks. He ducks his head and lets Louis wrap his arms around his waist, pulling their chests together. Their foreheads touch gently, noses nuzzling in an innocent eskimo kiss. Louis squeezes his hips lovingly.

“I’m sorry you had to leave your old life behind,” Louis says softly, face suddenly turning serious. Harry’s strawberry lips press into a straight line. “I just— I want to make the best of it. I don’t want you to be miserable because of... me.”

Harry shakes his head. “Louis, what are you going on about? Do I _look_ miserable?”

Louis pauses for a brief moment, as if trying to decide if his question was rhetorical. “Well, no, but—”

“Exactly. I’m _happy_ ,” Harry promises, caressing Louis’s warm face. Beads of sweat glisten on his hairline. “I’m happy because I’m here with _you_.”

“I just feel so guilty,” Louis admits, voice cracking with vulnerability.

His broken tone catches Harry off guard. Louis always tries _so_ hard to be the strong one. He hides his weaknesses with dominance and confidence, never lets anyone see past his barriers. He knows this abrupt conversation is a product of built-up emotions and bottled feelings. He’s finally letting Harry see his inner frailty.

“Don’t,” Harry says simply. “Don’t feel guilty.”

“I feel like a selfish prat,” Louis huffs, stepping backwards. A gap of cold separation grows between them. He wipes his wet eyes with the back of his hand. “I shouldn’t have bitten you. I shouldn’t have taken you away from your friends and your job.”

Harry sighs and slumps his shoulders. “Lou, I don’t care. As long as I’m with you, I’m happy. I don’t need my old life. I _hated_ my old life.”

“But you loved being a stripper,” Louis points out. “And I took that away from you.”

“No, you didn’t. Liam took that away from me, not you,” Harry argues.

Louis frowns and sniffles, tries to clear his throat. Tries to build up his walls again to hide his fragility. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

Louis motions around cluelessly. “For being all— y’know. Emotional.”

“Don’t apologize, you idiot,” Harry scoffs. “I _want_ you to be open with me. I want you to tell me how you really feel. That’s what boyfriends are for, after all.”

Louis cracks a small smile. “I dunno what I did to deserve you.”

Harry smiles smugly. “I dunno, either. You’re pretty damn lucky,” he teases. He presses a light kiss to his stubbly cheek, feeling his wiry hairs beneath his soft lips. He secretly wishes he could feel his stubble between his thighs instead.

“Now, let’s get out of this dirty barn, hm?” Louis proposes, pulling back the collar of his t-shirt to sniff himself. He smells like sweat and fading day-old cologne.“I think we’re long overdue for a shower.”

Harry snickers. “You’re so subtle.”

“What do you mean, love?” Louis says with false innocence. “Our new home comes with a luxurious walk-in shower. I want to try it out for the first time. We might as well save water and shower together, right? You’re always going on about how much you wanna save the planet, or whatever.”

Harry just grins, rolls his eyes, and grabs Louis’s hand to pull him out of the barn. They start walking down the dirt path towards their house. They can see their porch lights shining in the distance, yellow and glowy in the midst of darkness. In the nighttime, Louis’s eyes look like bright silver coins, and Harry’s are flaming embers of gold.

Their back porch is supported by white pillars, overshadowing a wooden swing bench and a welcome mat in front of the flimsy screen door. They walk up the steps hurriedly, feeling the tension grow between them like a plague. Without any warning, Louis grabs Harry’s broad shoulders and pushes him up against the doorframe, kissing him messily. Harry smiles against his chapped lips and whimpers when Louis pushes his tongue into his mouth. He tastes like cinnamon gum and cigarette smoke.

He moves his lips down his sharp jawline, eliciting a shuddered breath from Harry. He plants light kisses along the column of his throat until he reaches his scar, where he bit him and bonded them together. He glides his fangs right over the red mark, nibbling, teasing him. Harry groans impatiently and grabs Louis’s arse, pushes their crotches together.

“Naughty,” Louis tsks, biting down on his sensitive skin. Harry chokes out a broken gasp of pleasure and grinds against his thigh. He can feel the outline of his hardening cock through his skin-tight skinny jeans.

“Need you,” Harry begs, turning his neck slightly. Louis hums and licks his cold tongue above his collarbone, sucking a swollen mark. Harry just grumbles and rocks his growing erection against him like a horny, desperate teenager.

Without saying another word, Louis lifts Harry up with ease, letting him wrap his long legs around his waist. Harry thanks every godly being that Louis was blessed with vampiric strength. It’s undeniably attractive. His biceps bulge as he holds him up with one arm, using his spare hand to open the door. He carries them inside their large, air-conditioned home. A rush of frosty air hits them like a freight train.

“Bathroom,” Harry pants against his lips, interrupting their sloppy snog session.

Louis murmurs something incoherently before leading them to their master bathroom. It’s incredibly large with cold, tiled floors and eggshell white walls. The walk-in shower was originally installed for the previous owners— an old, rich couple in their late eighties. It still has the accessibility handle along the side of the glass panel.

He sets Harry down gently, as if he’s made of glass. He somehow lost his boots along the way. Louis’s carefulness is a strange transition from their frantic kisses and aggressive touches— not weird, per se. Just different. It reminds Harry of how Louis can be dominant and gentle at the same time. He’s a lovely contradiction, two things at once. Harry loves that about him.

“Take off your bloody clothes,” Louis grits out, already unbuttoning Harry’s silk blouse. He shrugs it off without hesitation. It falls to the floor in a puddle of shiny, pink fabric. He frantically takes off his dark jeans, struggling to get them past his ankles. In the middle of this, Louis manages to reach into the shower and turn the handle, letting cold water fall like thick rain droplets. He turns back towards Harry with urgency.

Louis chuckles at the sight in front of him. “You’re cute,” he murmurs as Harry finally kicks off his skinnies. He’s still wearing his underwear— his favorite pair of pink briefs.

“Shut up and get undressed,” Harry huffs, gripping the hem of Louis’s old t-shirt.

Louis bites his lip and takes off his shirt to reveal his tan tummy and chest hair and gorgeous collarbones, complemented with beautiful tattoos. Harry stares at him like he was crafted by angels. Perhaps he was. His arms always look strong and muscled, no matter how long he goes without working out.

Whilst Harry is distracted by Louis’s marvelous torso, the eldest vampire removes his dirt-covered shoes and childish Spiderman socks. He tugs off his jeans and nudges them aside with his foot. He can’t help but stare at Harry’s pink pants— how they form tightly around his hard cock, tip poking out from the elastic hem. His bum looks marvelous, too. Firm and cute.

“C’mon,” Louis breathes out, sliding Harry's pants past his milky thighs, leaving him completely naked. He takes off his own boxers before gripping Harry’s dick, giving it a few tugs. His lashes flutter with relief. He subtly moves his hips up, fucking his tight fist.

“ ‘s warm now,” Harry chokes out, feeling the humidity in the air.

Louis glances in the shower through the foggy glass. He’s right. He grabs Harry’s wrist, right above his anchor tattoo, and tugs him inside. He kisses him against the tiled wall, heated and fast and messy. The water falls around them in a waterfall of warmth. The steady sound of hissing pipes mutes Harry’s whimpers and quiet gasps as Louis strokes his cock.

“Need lube,” Harry reminds him.

Louis pulls back, lips wet and swollen. “I have a travel size bottle in my carry on bag. Stay here, okay?” he says hastily, pressing one last kiss to his boyfriend’s lips.

Harry’s head thumps back against the shower wall as Louis leaves for a quick moment. He can’t help but touch himself in his brief absence. He just needs something— some sort of friction. Louis always works him up in the best way possible.

He returns less than a minute later with a small blue bottle in his hand. He bites his lip with concentration and uncaps it, messily spreading some on his fingers. Apparently he doesn’t want to waste any more time with teasing foreplay. His erection looks painful now— throbbing and desperate and beading with precum.

“Bend over and hold onto the bar,” Louis instructs with wild, hungry eyes.

Harry shivers, despite the warm temperature, and grips the handicap bar with white knuckles. He stares down at the wet, slippery shower tiles. Louis rubs his slick fingers between his arse cheeks, causing Harry to tense up and push back against him.

“Please,” he whines. “Want you.”

Louis hushes him and looms over his back, biting his shoulder lightly. He nudges his forefinger against his tight hole before pushing it completely inside. Harry gasps and rocks against it, silently begging for more. Louis kisses his shoulder before adding another finger, stretching him open. Harry moans when Louis nearly brushes over his prostate. He feels a sizzle of arousal in his lower abdomen.

“ ‘m ready, Lou,” he promises, practically fucking himself on Louis’s thick fingers. His wet hair frames his face like a dark curtain. Water drips down his pale skin, falling to the dimples in his back.

Louis pulls out his fingers, letting the water wash away the excess lube. A beat of silence passes between them before he swears under his breath.

“What’s wrong?”

“Don’t have a condom,” Louis grumbles.

Harry glances over his shoulder. “Do you have one in your luggage?”

“No.”

He raises an eyebrow. “You brought lube but not a condom?”

“We left in a hurry, okay? I’m forgetful,” Louis sighs, running a hand through his dripping hair. It looks darker when it’s wet— like milk chocolate.

Harry bites his lip. “Are you clean?”

“Yeah. Had a checkup right before I met you. Are you?”

Harry nods slowly. “I got tested last month. Liam used to require us to do tests every season,” he rambles, tightening his grip on the metal bar. “Fuck me bareback, please?”

Louis feels lightheaded. He had the audacity to say _please_. It makes his heart flutter like butterfly wings.

“I’ve got you,” Louis hushes, gripping his cock.

He lines himself up with Harry’s stretched, clenching hole. He presses his tip up against him, smearing precum on his arse. He pushes in slowly, giving him time to adjust. It feels hotter than usual— closer, rawer, deeper. His walls tighten around him.

“You feel so good,” Louis seethes, filling him up to the brim. Harry’s mouth gapes open in pleasure. He’s never felt so full and loved. He’s had sex without a condom before, twice in fact, but it’s different with Louis. It has an entirely different meaning. It’s _trust_.

“Y-you can move,” Harry whimpers, pulsing around his bare cock.

Louis grips his shoulders, dull nails biting into his skin, and makes a few shallow thrusts. Harry gasps and pushes back against him, meeting him halfway. Louis takes the hint and starts pounding faster, holding his hips securely. Harry’s back arches in ecstasy.

“Oh my god,” Harry moans, stroking his cock in sync with Louis’s thrusts.

“Love you so much,” Louis murmurs and aims for his sweet spot. Harry makes a choked sound in the back of his throat, but Louis knows it’s pleasurable and not painful. If Harry was hurting, he’d know instantly thanks to their bond.

Hot water continues to pour around them, fogging up the glass walls and nearby mirrors. The steam sticks to their smooth skin. Water circles around the tiled floors before being sucked down the drain.

“Daddy,” Harry groans, feeling Louis’s repetitive thrusts against his prostate. His puffy lips are ajar, like they’re stuck open, panting and breathing heavily. Louis tightens his grip on his love handles.

“Wanna come for me?” Louis asks breathily, reaching for Harry’s cock. He rubs his tip before smoothing his palm down his shaft, making Harry’s thighs tremble. “Be a good boy for Daddy, hm?”

That’s all it takes. Harry comes undone in Louis’s hand, shooting ribbons of white against the glass wall and Louis’s wet palm. Louis fucks him through his orgasm, speeding up his pace. Harry’s arms nearly give out, too tired to support himself on the bar.

“Fill me up,” Harry squeaks out.

Louis moans loudly and releases inside of him, filling him with his come. Harry feels his wetness spill out of him and drip down his inner thighs as Louis thrusts a few more times. Harry secretly loves it— feeling dirty and wet and full. He hopes they’ll do this again and again.

But, maybe they’ll save it for later. He’s too tired for round two.

Louis stands there for a few moments and tries to catch his breath. He slowly slips out of Harry, releasing more of his come. Harry whines quietly when he feels it drip out.

“That was lovely,” he comments nonchalantly. It’s actually an understatement.

Harry laughs and turns around, finally meeting his face again. Louis’s cheeks are flushed red from exhaustion and the hot water. “You’re lovely.”

Louis licks his lips before reaching over to the shower knob, switching it off. They walk out together in silence. He desperately wishes they'd brought towels in their luggage, since they’re both dripping wet and soaked to the bone.

“Let’s put on our pants and go out to the kitchen, yeah? We can make a list of furniture to buy in the morning. How does that sound, baby?”

Harry just smiles and kisses his wet lips. He slips on his pink briefs, snug and tight on his arse. Louis pulls on his boxers and can’t help but pinch Harry’s arse. Harry giggles and swats his tummy before kissing him again, this time slower and sweeter.

Louis knows they have errands to run and plans to make, but those things can wait. Right now, he wants to get lost in love and bliss.


	25. The Fight

"I can't believe you take this long to get ready," Louis teases, shaking his head disapprovingly.

He's leaning up against the doorframe in their master bathroom, watching his boyfriend fondly with his arms crossed over his chest. Harry stands in front of the sink with a tube of black mascara, flicking the bristled brush against his lashes to lengthen them. He's mastered the art of applying makeup without a reflection. The large mirror is clean and smudge-free, showing the porcelain tub located behind him. He suppresses his instinctual habit to look up and check his appearance.

Harry smiles at the sound of Louis's smooth, archaic voice. "I wanna look perfect," he says softly. He pulls out his sparkly lipgloss from his Fool's Gold makeup bag and smooths it over his strawberry lips. He smacks them together audibly. "This is our first time in a new city with new people. I need to make a good impression."

Louis laughs and steps in closer. He wraps his warm arms around Harry's pudgy waist, resting his chin on his shoulder. He smells like floral perfume and mint toothpaste.

"Everyone you meet falls hopelessly in love with you," Louis reassures.

Harry blushes adorably and ducks his head. "That's not true."

"Of course it is. You're lovely," Louis murmurs and presses his lips to the side of his neck. He kisses him delicately, right above his scar. It sends a tingle down Harry's spine. "But you're _mine_ , aren't you?"

Harry hums and leans into his touch. "Only yours."

Louis nibbles at his skin teasingly. "Love you so much, baby," he purrs. His breath feels cold against his lifeless flesh. "Always such a pretty boy. You make Daddy feel so damn lucky."

Harry bites his lip and tucks his hair behind his ear. "Lou, please," he says desperately, voice already wrecked and hoarse.

"What?" Louis asks innocently, as if he's not purposely trying to rile him up. As if he doesn't know Harry's kinks and weaknesses.

"We should leave soon. The furniture store closes at eight," Harry protests.

Louis sighs dramatically. "Okay, love. Get dressed. I'll go call a cab."

He pinches Harry's arse before leaving him in privacy, shutting the door behind him. He walks out to the empty kitchen and finds his phone on the granite countertop. He quickly calls a taxi and rattles off their new address. When he hangs up, he huffs and glances around aimlessly.

He can't help but imagine Harry standing in front of the stove with a frilly apron, flipping pancakes with a silver spatula. Silly domestic dreams always make his heart swell. His past marriages were all fraud and loveless, but he knows Harry's different. He's special. Perhaps they'll be together for a long time— maybe even forever.

He thought he was doomed to spend eternity in complete loneliness. He thought his life had no purpose. He used to waste his days plotting his next victim and feeling sorry for himself. But then Harry came along with his pretty green eyes and kindness and big heart. After all these years, Harry managed to make his countless past lives worthwhile.

"Lou?"

Louis looks up in surprise. Harry stands beneath the kitchen archway, all pigeon-toed and flushed. He wears his favorite pair of dark skinny jeans with distressed holes in the knees. His brown leather boots are short and worn-out. Louis looks at him with complete awe, eyeing him from head to toe. He's wearing a button-up floral blouse with pink roses. They match his lips and rosy cheeks. 

"You look beautiful," Louis says breathlessly.

Harry giggles shyly and brushes his curls out of his eyes. "Shut up."

"I mean it," the older vampire assures, stepping closer. He curls his arms around his waist so they're chest-to-chest. Harry looks down at him lovingly, a timid smile tugging on his lips.

"You're too nice to me," Harry accuses, rolling his eyes.

"But you deserve all the kindness in the world."

Harry scoffs. "Stop being so sweet. You're gonna give my fangs cavities."

Louis snickers and grabs his boyfriend's hand. When he looks down, he notices their significant size difference. His dainty wrist doesn't compare to Harry's massive palms and long fingers and bulging knuckles. Harry likes to think he's small, but he's truly strong, tall, and absolutely massive. Not to mention his big cock.

"The cab's gonna be here any minute now," Harry murmurs, pulling Louis towards the front door impatiently.

They walk out onto the porch and wait beneath the white pillars. They look out towards the open corn fields across the street, swaying gently in the breeze. The grass is green and full with visible stripes from the lawnmower. Above them, the sky is a lovely shade of cerulean with small, puffy clouds. A flock of geese fly overhead, forming a lopsided _v_ shape.

"I reckon we should buy a car whilst we're in town," Louis says abruptly.

Harry raises an eyebrow. " 's a bit last minute, innit?"

Louis shrugs. "Doesn't matter. I have lots of money, darling."

"Don't say stuff like that. Makes me feel like a spoiled sugar baby," Harry says, tilting his head.

"Y'know, I could buy you your own car," Louis offers, toying with the rings on Harry's fingers mindlessly. "You've always wanted a convertible, right? I'll get you one."

"No. Absolutely not."

Louis raises an eyebrow. "Why not?"

"Because you already paid for my plane ticket and bought this massive house," Harry says firmly, as if it was obvious.

Louis looks at him with confusion. "But—"

"It's not up for discussion," Harry says, crossing his arms over his chest. Louis instantly misses the warmth of his hand against his own. "I have some money leftover from Fool's Gold. I'll buy my own car, okay?"

"No offence, love, but you can't exactly buy a new car with two hundred pounds worth of sweat-covered crumpled bills."

Harry squints at him, gold-tinted eyes filled with frustration. "Don't treat me like I'm poor, Louis. I have my own money."

"Baby—"

"I don't wanna talk about this anymore," Harry says stubbornly. "Just drop it."

Louis deflates like a balloon. Before he can think of a witty response, a yellow taxi stops at the curb with screeching brakes. Harry ignores him and walks towards the cab without another word. He yanks open the door and slides in silently, gliding over the smooth, leather seats. Louis sits next to him and frowns.

"Where are you two headed?" asks the driver. Louis can see the top of his bald head over the back of his seat.

"The furniture store in downtown Whitehall," Louis tells the driver, watching Harry out of the corner of his eye.

He stares out of the window silently with his eyebrows creased. His dark, curly hair is covering most of his pale face, but Louis can still see the tightness of his jaw. He always makes that face when he's upset.

They ride in total silence, listening to the faint buzz of the radio. The air smells like leather and pine-scented car freshener. The air conditioning is a little too cold for Louis's liking, even for a vampire. He instinctively tries to wrap his arm around Harry's shoulder, but he nudges him away subtly.

When they finally arrive in Whitehall twenty minutes later, Harry makes sure to pay the driver himself, sending Louis a sharp glare.

-

Various sofas, mattresses, and tightly-packed wooden furniture fill the large store. The owner, an old man in his mid-sixties, builds all the furniture himself. It's a small, local family business. Bright lights hang from the ceiling to illuminate his intricate carvings and detailed handiwork. The polished wood reminds Harry of Montana's forest landscape.

Despite his bitterness, Harry walks around with Louis as they maneuver throughout the store. Calming music plays through the store's intercom in the ceiling. They stay relatively quiet, making small comments every now and then. Louis can practically see the growing agitation on Harry's face.

"Listen," Louis says and stops in his tracks. Harry turns around slowly, as if he's annoyed. Which, he probably is. "I'm sorry for assuming you don't have money. I just— I dunno. I feel inclined to help you. I love you, and like, it's kinda my fault you're here in the first place."

Harry frowns and stays quiet for a few long, torturous seconds. "No, 'm sorry for being so... dramatic," he begins, struggling to find the right word. "I guess I just feel guilty and useless."

Louis's face softens. "Why do you feel guilty, love?"

"Because you've done so much for me. I want to help financially, but I can't because stripping is my only talent," Harry grumbles, avoiding eye contact. He wants to hide his vulnerability. He doesn't want Louis to see that he's hurting. "And you think I'm incompetent of making money on my own."

Louis furrows his eyebrows. "I don't think that, baby. You just lost your job last week. Of course you don't have much money. I don't blame you, love, and I'm just trying to help."

Harry shrugs like it doesn't bother him. It does, though. It bothers him a lot deep down.

But as always, he can't keep secrets from Louis.

 _Don't be so hard on yourself_ , Louis whispers into his thoughts.

Harry pinches his eyes shut and looks down at his feet, frowning. "But it's true. I was fired from every job before I got to Fool's Gold. Nobody wants me."

 _I want you_.

"That's not the point, Louis. I need a job," Harry says, lowering his voice.

"Babe, you're incredibly charismatic. You're great with people. You know how to charm random strangers," Louis compliments, brushing his thumb over his lover's cheek. Harry gives a small smile in response to his icy fingertips. "You'll find a job. I know you will."

Harry looks down at him with glossy eyes. "I'm sorry," he whispers, voice rough and croaky.

"Hey, it's okay. Don't be sorry," Louis assures, squeezing his hand. He flicks his head towards the opposite end of the store. "C'mon, now. Let's go pick out a furniture set for our bedroom."

Harry smiles again. This time it's genuine and bright, with dimples and rosy cheeks.

They browse around for nearly half an hour until they find the perfect set— dark oak with white accents to match their eggshell walls. They also find a king-sized mattress, a couch, loveseat, and a set of two rocking chairs for their back porch. Harry practically lights up like a christmas tree as Louis swipes his credit card and scribbles his messy signature across a few documents and forms. The furniture will all be delivered to their house in two days.

Louis and Harry walk out of the store with smiles on their faces and their hands interlocked. The warm summer sun kisses their skin as the breeze blows against them. They swing their arms back and forth and walk along the pavement.

The town of Whitehall is beautiful and peaceful. Small stores and local businesses line the streets. In the distance, tall mountains emerge from the horizon, capped with white snow. Cars of all different shapes and colours are parked outside of red-bricked buildings. It rained the night before, leaving the roads wet and slippery.

The entire town seems to be located on a single street. It's surrounded by cornfields and green valleys. They pass by an old gas station, small hotel, and a single-theatre cinema. Harry sighs with happiness and looks around excitedly, like a newborn puppy exploring the world for the first time.

"There's a car dealership down the street," Louis says softly, squeezing Harry's hand to catch his attention. "Let's go buy Daddy a shiny new porsche, yeah?"

Harry whimpers quietly. Louis notices the slow bob of his throat. "Don't tease."

Louis smirks and wraps his arm around Harry's waist protectively. Harry just pouts in protest.

"You're such a menace," he accuses.

Louis scoffs and pecks his lips. "Too bad you're stuck with me."

"Yeah, too bad," Harry says sarcastically, bringing their lips together again.


	26. The Employment

Sunlight spreads across the large bed like a blanket of warmth, making Louis's sensitive skin itch with irritability. He slowly awakes from a deep state of slumber and turns his head slightly, pressing his temple against the soft sheets. To his left, Harry sleeps peacefully with his limbs spread delicately, like a perfectly-positioned doll. His porcelain skin starts to turn pink from the harsh light.

Carefully, Louis lifts up the heavy blanket and drapes it across Harry's body. Much to Louis's relief, he doesn't wake up. With a sleepy smile on his face, Louis stands up and walks towards the nearby window. Outside, the blue sky is completely cloudless and empty. He shuts the curtains firmly to seal out the torturous sunshine.

"Lou," Harry croaks, lashes fluttering. He stares at him from across the room, curled up in the comforter like a butterfly in a cocoon.

"Morning, baby," Louis hums, stepping closer to his bedside. The floorboards creak beneath his weight. Despite living in this house for nearly three weeks now, he isn't accustomed to the squeaky noises and screeching door hinges.

Harry smiles up at him, eyes dark and green like moss. "I start my new job today," he thinks aloud.

"You do," Louis says proudly.

He remembers when Harry came home one week prior after filling out countless applications in Whitehall. He had an interview at the local bar and was hired on the spot. He already had experience bartending at Fool's Gold, so he couldn't wait to start working again. He was becoming increasingly bored with doing absolutely nothing with his life.

"Are you excited?" Louis asks after a brief moment of silence.

"Mostly nervous," Harry admits, biting his lip.

"You'll be great," Louis reassures, rubbing his cold palm up and down the length of Harry's arm. "You'll be the best bartender in the state of Montana."

Harry rolls his eyes and lets out a quiet breath of laughter. "Sure, whatever."

Louis's lips press into a thin line. His expression suddenly turns colder. "Are you feeling alright? You look pale."

"I'm a vampire—"

"No, I mean. Paler than usual."

Harry sits up in bed, straightening his posture. His joints crack. "I'm just hungry. It's been awhile since we last..."

"Killed someone?"

Harry nods silently. "I'm just... tired. Exhausted, actually."

Louis understands. He doesn't mention the dark circles beneath his eyes. His lips are no longer a bright shade of rose, but rather a light pastel pink like over-chewed bubblegum. His movements are syrupy slow.

"Perhaps we should go hunting," he suggests, voice soft and hesitant. "You need all the energy you can get. It's your first day at a new job, love."

"You know I don't like that word— hunting."

"I don't know how else to say it."

Harry goes quiet for a few seconds. He looks down at his hands. His bones are prominent and interlaced with bulging veins. He knows he's starving—he can feel it in his gut—but the past few weeks have been so blissful and beautiful. He doesn't want to ruin his newfound happiness. Killing someone always leaves him feeling guilty and monstrous.

"Maybe later," Harry mumbles. He picks at a hangnail on his thumb to avoid Louis's burning gaze of concern. "I'm not really in the mood to kill someone."

"Baby—"

"Later," he repeats, bopping Louis's nose for emphasis.

Louis's eyes crinkle in response. "Okay, later. How about tomorrow?"

Harry nods slowly before climbing out of bed, pushing the blankets aside. He rubs his knuckles against his eyes and tries to clear his blurry vision. He's wearing nothing but a pair of pink boxers that fall mid-thigh. His legs look long and milky and endless. He stretches his arms over his head, flexing his muscles. Louis gulps.

"How are you so effortlessly beautiful?" he says aloud, staring at Harry lovingly.

Harry blushes and ducks his head. "Shut up."

"Let me compliment you," Louis purrs, eyes darkening. He steps closer and grips Harry's pudgy hips, squeezing his adorable love handles. "Y'know, I'm not sure how I feel about this new job of yours. I don't want creepy old men flirting with you for free drinks."

Harry scoffs. "Creepy old men like yourself?"

Louis pouts childishly. "I'm not creepy."

"But you're practically ancient," Harry teases, shaking his head fondly. He gives Louis a quick once-over, admiring him from head to toe. He licks his lips. "226 years old, and you still insist upon wearing Spiderman pajama pants."

Louis laughs and crosses his arms over his bare chest. "Stop making fun of me. You need a shower. You stink."

" 's your fault for making me sweat so much. I smell like sex," Harry says, wrinkling his nose with false disgust.

Louis flushes. Dirty images enter his head. He tries not to think about Harry moaning and arching his back with Louis's head between his thighs. Tries not to think about him screaming his name and calling him Daddy.

"Will you make me a cuppa whilst I'm in the shower?" Harry asks, pausing in the bathroom doorway. "My throat's kinda sore."

Louis bites his lip. "Yeah, sure."

Harry smiles before shutting the door. Louis stands there for a few more seconds, flustered and red-faced. After he recollects himself, he retreats to the kitchen and fills up a silver kettle with water. He rests it on the hob and lets it simmer.

He waits next to the stove in silence, listening to the hissing water pipes from the nearby bathroom. Distantly, he can hear Harry humming to himself in the shower, and Louis can't help but smile fondly.

Harry has him wrapped around his finger.

-

"Are you sure you don't want me to come with? I could keep you company," Louis hums, leaning up against the bedroom doorway. His arms are crossed firmly over his chest, making his biceps flex. His caramel hair is swept across his forehead beautifully.

Harry smirks and pulls his uniform t-shirt over his head. He tugs on the hem to straighten out the wrinkles. The shirt has the bar's logo on the front and a name tag pinned at the top.

"I don't think my boss would appreciate it," Harry chuckles dryly. He runs his fingers through his long curls, brushing a few ringlets out of his eyes.

"But I need to protect you," Louis pouts. He steps in closer and wraps his arms around Harry's waist, resting his chin on his shoulder. He tenses as Louis turns his face and presses his cold lips against his neck, kissing over his scar. His fangs scratch over his skin. He subtly rubs his crotch against his arse.

Harry huffs. "I don't need you to protect me, Louis. I'm a grown man."

Louis releases his grip and frowns. Harry turns around so they're face-to-face. He doesn't look too happy.

"I'll be fine, okay? Don't worry about me," Harry assures, squeezing his hands.

"But you're my little fledgling, babe. You're my responsibility."

Harry sighs at length. "This is my first job since Fool's Gold. Please don't ruin this for me by being overprotective."

Louis scoffs at the accusation. "Me? Overprotective? As if!"

Harry tilts his head hesitantly. "Promise you'll leave me alone? My shift is only five hours long. I'll be home by midnight."

"I promise," Louis swears, trying his best to sound genuine.

Harry smiles and wraps his arms around Louis's waist, hugging him. Despite being cold-blooded, he feels surprisingly warm and soft and gentle. He nuzzles his nose into the crook of his neck, smelling his expensive Ralph Lauren cologne.

Louis pulls back a few inches, creating a gap of space between them. Before Harry can complain, he brings their lips together and snogs him breathlessly. His lips taste like strawberry lip gloss. He kisses him urgently at first, with teeth and tongue, but it soon softens into something more familiar. Something calmer.

When they finally separate, Harry's lips are wet with spit. His cheeks are flushed pink, completely flustered, and his eyes are glossed over.

"What was that for?" Harry asks. "Not that I'm complaining."

"It was a goodbye kiss."

Harry frowns. "I'll be gone for five hours, Louis. I'm not going off to war."

"But this is our first time being apart since we moved here," Louis complains, voice cracking with vulnerability. "I'm just... worried."

"Don't be," Harry murmurs, touching their foreheads together. He places his hand over the back of his neck and smooths over his nape.

"I just don't want any guys to flirt with you or touch you," Louis grumbles immaturely. His jaw sets tightly with jealousy. "You're _mine_."

"I'm just a bartender, Lou. Not a stripper. Relax."

"But you're so sexy. You're irresistible," Louis purrs, squeezing his waist. He's wearing a pair of dark denim jeans that cling to his thighs and bum. His t-shirt is a little small on him, although it could be a marketing strategy. Fit bartenders in skin-tight clothes influence customers to order more drinks.

"When I come home later, we'll celebrate my new job. I promise," Harry giggles, blushing.

Louis hums attentively. "What'd you have in mind?"

Harry smirks and inches closer. He leans in, breath as cold as ice, and nips at his earlobe with his fangs. It pinches, but not enough to actually puncture the skin. Louis shivers beneath his touch.

"Anything you want, Daddy."

Louis's eyes darken with arousal. "Fuck, baby. You can't tease me right now."

"Why not?" Harry asks, batting his lashes innocently.

"Because you're about to leave. It's not fair."

Harry smiles mischievously. "You're right. My cab should be here any second now."

Louis slumps his shoulders. "You can take my new Porsche, y'know. I don't mind."

"No, Lou. I'm gonna save up my paychecks and buy my own car. That's why I got this job in the first place."

"But—"

"My cab's here," Harry interrupts, glancing out the window.

A yellow taxi is parked along the side of the road. Outside, the green grass looks vibrant in the bright sunlight. A tall mountain stands in the distance with white patches of snow near its peak. Their road is nothing but an uneven dirt path of gravel.

He quickly kisses Louis's cheek, feeling his stubble scratch against his lips. "I'll see you later, Daddy. Wait for me."

Louis just stares as his boyfriend walks out the front door. And suddenly, his world feels empty.

-

Compared to Fool's Gold, Bighorn Bar and Grill is an absolute pigsty. The interior bricked walls are lined with old Montana license plates and rusty antiques. The floor, made entirely of concrete, is coated in a thin layer of dirt and dust. The alcohol bar is long with a glass counter top, distorted with cracks and smudges. Unstable stools line up along the bar, complete with red leather cushions.

Windows fill the wall facing the main road with boarders of dull, blue curtains. People, mostly men, crowd around the bar with half-filled glasses. Loud chatter overwhelms the busy atmosphere.

Harry stands at the entrance, completely still. He can't help but feel out of place. He's a English boy in his early twenties in the middle of rural Montana. Not to mention the fact that he's a blood-thirsty vampire.

Amidst the crowd of drunken customers, Harry smells blood. The entire bar has a heavenly aroma. His instincts tell him to attack someone, _anyone_ , and sink in his fangs. He suppresses his vampire urges and pushes them to the back of his brain.

"Harry!" says a loud, raspy voice.

He looks up to see his new boss, Mr. Elliot. He's a tall man with a prominent barrel-belly, born and raised in the heart of Texas. He moved to Montana when he was only nineteen years old to start his own business. Now, at the age of sixty-five, he's the richest man in Whitehall. Which isn't that much of an accomplishment, considering the town has a small population of 1,077.

Mr. Elliot has a grey beard and sideburns. A cowboy hat rests on the top of his head. He wears an oversized pair of blue jeans, secured to his waist with a large leather belt. His skin is pale and filled with wrinkles.

"Hello, sir," Harry says with a bright smile. He reaches out and shakes his hand firmly. His palm feels as dry and rough as sandpaper.

His boss grins. "No need to be so formal. You can call me Peter," he insists, releasing his grip. "Let me show you to your new work station, okay?"

Harry nods eagerly. His boss guides him behind the counter, next to towering shelves of alcohol. Customers sit on the wobbly stools and drink from shot glasses and beer mugs. A thick cloud of cigarette smoke swirls through the air.

"You have experience mixing cocktails, right?" Peter asks, raising an eyebrow.

"Right," Harry confirms, nodding shortly. "There was a bar at the club I used to work at."

"Great," Peter says with a smile.

He clasps his hand on another worker's shoulder. It's a girl, probably in her late-twenties. Her hair is dark and coarse, coiled in pretty curls. Her skin is as dark and soft as milk chocolate. She has pretty doe eyes, bright and innocent. Her uniform t-shirt is tight around her bust, showing off her perky breasts and curvy hips. The hem falls just above her navel.

"This is Tina. She's been working here for almost seven years, and she'll be your trainer for today," says Peter, voice flat and low. "You can watch her for an hour or so, and then I'll let you get to work."

Harry's eyes widen. "Are you sure I can learn everything in an hour?" he hesitates.

Peter gives a comforting grin. "It's mixing drinks, not rocket science. You'll be fine."

Before Harry can protest, his boss leaves without another word to attend to other business. He's left alone with Tina. The young woman laughs lightly.

"Don't take it personally. Peter's a very busy man," she explains, wiping down the counter with an old rag.

Harry just stands there awkwardly, hands tucked in his pockets.

"Hey, gorgeous," says one of the awaiting customers, interrupting their conversation. He's staring at Tina directly.

He's a middle-aged man sitting at one of the bar stools, clutching an empty beer mug. He has dark hair and ashen eyes. He's clearly intoxicated, voice slow and slurred.

"How 'bout a refill, yeah?" he grumbles.

Tina forces out a false smile and takes the man's glass. She lifts it to the beer tap and fills it to the brim. The golden surface is coated in a thick layer of carbonated foam. She slides the mug to him across the smooth counter without spilling a single drop.

"Thanks, sugar," the customer babbles, winking.

Tina just frowns and turns back around to face Harry. The man at the bar returns his attention to his group of friends. They're chatting obnoxiously loud, complaining about their wives and tiring jobs. Harry suppresses the urge to roll his eyes.

"Does that happen a lot?" Harry asks curiously, lowering his voice so the men can't hear.

Tina raises a thin eyebrow. "What?"

"The whole... flirting thing."

She shrugs. "Sometimes, yeah. But _that_ was nothing. Sometimes customers can get very... invasive."

"Invasive?"

"Yeah, y'know. Ass grabs. Staring at my tits. Following me home."

Harry gulps worriedly. "Are you serious?"

"Yeah, but whatever. The job pays well, and I get tipped a lot," she says dismissively. She squints her eyes at Harry for a few seconds. He can tell she's staring at his mascara and lip gloss. "Oh, and just some advice: skip the makeup. Some of these guys are homophobic bastards with their minds stuck in the last century."

She drops the subject abruptly and grabs a silver cocktail shaker from one of the top shelves. She twists off the lid and smiles eagerly, revealing perfectly-straight teeth. Her plump lips are coated with red stain.

"Want me to show you how to make a lime margarita? It's one of my favorites," she offers kindly, grabbing a bottle of top-notch tequila from behind the bar.

Harry smiles timidly. "Um, yeah. Sure."

He ignores the nervousness in his gut and tries to focus on Tina's instructions. But no matter how hard he tries, he can't avoid his paranoid instincts. These men could be dangerous. If they harass Tina on a daily basis, he can't even begin to imagine what they might do to him. He's a delicate green-eyed boy with long hair and feminine tattoos. He's a homophobe's worst nightmare.

On second thought, maybe his possessive boyfriend was right. Perhaps he  _does_ need Louis's protection. 


	27. The New Kill

“Would you like another drink, sir?” Harry asks sweetly, eyeing a customer’s empty glass. His voice is soft and timid despite the bar’s loud, rowdy atmosphere.

Bits of half-melted ice cling to the bottom of his tumbler glass. The man is a regular customer, well-known throughout the Whitehall community as Dean the infamous drunk. He’s middle-aged, no older than fifty, with thinning hair and a plump beer belly. His facial hair is wiry and untrimmed, giving him a disheveled appearance.

“Sure, whatever,” Dean says emotionlessly, barely giving Harry a single glance. He returns his attention to the football game playing on the bar’s flat screen television. Nearby, a group of noisy men crowd around a small table with large mugs of foamy beer.

Harry resists every urge to roll his eyes. Over the past two days, he’s learned a lot about controlling his anger and conscious opinions. He just forces out a false smile and grabs a bottle of Jack Daniel’s from the top cupboard. He fills his glass up to the brim.

“Here you go,” Harry says quietly, sliding the glass towards him.

Dean only grunts in response and takes the whiskey, drinking half of it in one gulp. Harry frowns and returns his attention to polishing the bar countertop. He tries to ignore the constant rumble of mindless chatter and drunken conversations.

Outside, the sun has already sunken into the horizon, leaving a sheet of pure black in the sky. Tiny stars speckle the heavens with bursts of twinkly lights. A crescent moon illuminates with a faint white glow.

Suddenly, Harry’s phone dings in his back pocket. He glances around to make sure his boss isn’t watching and unlocks it, narrowing his eyes at the bright screen. It’s a Kik message from Louis. His heart flutters in his chest.

**LouisTommo:** _how’s work baby???_

Harry smiles softly and quickly types back a reply.

 **rosestyles:** _I’m okay. I told you not to text me during my shift._

He isn’t really upset, but he likes to tease Louis for his possessiveness.

 **LouisTommo:** _but you didn’t say anything about Kik..._

Harry stiffles a laugh and bites his lip, already writing a response.

 **rosestyles:** _I miss you, too. I’ll be home in two hours._ ❤

 **LouisTommo:** _do you wanna go out for a bite to eat tonight?_

 **LouisTommo:** _get it? bite? Lol_

 **rosestyles:** _I’m kind of tired. Maybe another night._

**LouisTommo:** _baby…_

**rosestyles:** _What?_

**LouisTommo:** _u promised we’d go out tonight. ur starving yourself._

**rosestyles:** _I’m not in the mood, Louis._

 **LouisTommo:** _please. I hate seeing you like this sweetheart. it’s unhealthy._

Harry doesn’t bother replying. He just slides his phone back into his pocket and starts re-stacking some of the glasses to keep himself busy. He doesn’t want to think about killing anyone. Right now, he needs to focus on his new job.

“Hey, pretty boy!”

Harry looks up to see Dean staring at him at one of the bar stools. His eyes are hazy and his voice is raspy with intoxication. He taps his glass against the counter.

“How ‘bout another, yeah?”

Harry wants to grimace at the insulting nickname, but he doesn’t. He’s supposed to be a sweet, innocent bartender. So he takes the man’s glass and adds some fresh ice, filling it to the top with whiskey. He passes it back to him with an insincere smile.

But Dean doesn’t take the glass at first. Instead, he stares at Harry’s hand for a few seconds, unblinking. His eyes are a light shade of brown, drunk and unfocused. A look of subtle disgust crosses over his face.

“What’s on your nails?”

Harry’s stomach somersaults. Yesterday, Tina had warned Harry about wearing makeup. He’d taken her advice and skipped the mascara and lipgloss, but he forgot about the pink polish on his nails. This part of America’s farmland is notoriously homophobic and close minded. Anything that strayed from gendered norms was deemed unnatural.

“Oh, um. It’s nail polish,” Harry stutters, laughing awkwardly. His brain scrambles to think of a witty lie. “My sister put it on me. You know how little girls are.”

Dean stays silent for a moment, as if trying to analyze Harry’s sincerity. “Right,” he says eventually, taking the glass from his hand rather aggressively.

Harry swallows the lump in his throat. He chews on the inside of his cheek and tries his best to ignore Dean’s burning glare. Meanwhile, he leans against the counter and mindlessly picks at his nails, flaking off the polish.

-

At eleven o’clock, Harry’s shift ends and Tina takes over. He chats with her for a few minutes, discussing the weather and college, before departing and saying farewell to his boss. He sends Louis a quick message as he exits through the back door.

**rosestyles:** _Can you pick me up from work? I don’t have money for a cab. I’m in the parking lot._

**LouisTommo:** _sure, i’ll be there in 10. xx_

Outside, the air feels significantly colder. Goosebumps immediately pepper his pale skin. He crosses his arms over his chest and stands beneath a streetlamp, looking up to see moths fluttering around the bright light. His work uniform is small and tight, making him cold. The sleeves are too short and the hem falls just below his navel. He rubs his runny nose with the back of his hand and sniffles, waiting for his boyfriend to arrive. He looks around anxiously in search of his shiny new Porsche.

Trying to keep himself occupied, Harry opens the Scrabble app on his phone and taps away silently, listening to the steady buzz of cicadas and distant bar chatter. In the darkness, the entire town of Whitehall seems peaceful and empty. He leans up against the lamp pole and sighs. His breath fogs up in the cold nighttime air.

“Pretty boy!”

Harry’s throat locks up. He looks over to see Dean the drunk stumbling out of the bar, feet dragging like heavy weights. He’s swaying back and forth dizzily.

“Oh, hi,” Harry greets kindly, trying to hide his nervousness. He hopes the man didn’t notice the faint crack in his voice.

“Whatcha doing out here all alone?” Dean questions, cocking his head. He approaches him closely until Harry can practically feel his breath huffing against his face. He suppresses the urge to cringe with disgust.

Harry awkwardly tucks his hands into his pockets. “I’m just waiting for my ride,” he murmurs passively.

“Waiting for your girlfriend?” Dean asks suspiciously, raising an eyebrow.

Harry gulps. “No. Just a friend.”

“A friend,” Dean echoes. “Right.”

Harry gives the man a quick once-over. He’s completely wasted. His words are slurred and stuttered, and his movements are syrupy slow.

“I don’t like people like you in my town,” Dean huffs, poking one of his chubby fingers into Harry’s chest.

Harry’s heart starts beating faster. The man looks disgusted and angry, which isn’t a good combination. Everything about his composure is threatening.

“People like me?” Harry asks softly.

“Boys with long hair and painted nails and pretty faces,” he clarifies, scrunching his nose with revulsion. “You’re a freak.”

“Sir, I—”

“I bet you like it up the ass. Don’t you, pretty boy?” he teases, a snarl tugging on his pale chapped lips. “You’re probably looser than all the girls in Montana, you slut.”

Harry whines in the back of his throat when Dean gets closer. His face is only a mere inch away from his own. Harry’s back is pressed against the pole, eyes drifting away to avoid eye contact. He presses his hands against the man’s chest, nudging him backwards.

“Don’t touch me,” Harry warns.

“But you like being touched by other men, don’t you? You like being manhandled like a gay whore,” Dean chuckles.

“No,” Harry croaks. “Just stop. Leave me alone. I don’t want to hurt you.”

Dean gives a deep laugh that rumbles in his throat. “You think _you_ can hurt _me_?”

Harry doesn’t respond. He doesn’t _think_ he can— he knows he can. He’s a vampire, for fuck’s sake. He has strength beyond human capabilities. Physically, he could break this man’s skull without even trying.

But emotionally, he can do nothing but stand there in fear.

“Maybe I should beat the homo out of you, kid,” Dean grumbles, raising his arm in a threatening manner.

Before he can blink, he’s pinned against the pole, and then there’s a fist colliding with his gut. Harry curses under his breath and bends over painfully. He clutches his stomach and whimpers in distress. He knows he could fight back if he tried to, but he can't. He won't. 

Suddenly, Harry hears tires screeching against pavement. He weakly looks over to see Louis’s Porsche pulling into the lot, parking nearby. His boyfriend wastes no time climbing out of the car with his fists curled angrily. Harry’s never seen that look on his face before. His eyebrows are scrunched slightly, his forehead wrinkled. When he processes what’s happening, flickering his gaze between Harry and Dean, his mouth drops open.

“Hey, what the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Louis shouts, grabbing Dean forcefully by the shoulders.

Harry takes a few steps back in surprise. Using his vampiric strength, Louis shoves the drunken man against the lamp post. The impact is so powerful that the pole bends, the metal nearly breaking in half. The lamp flickers for a few seconds, and then the light goes out.

“Who the fuck are you?” Dean demands.

“I’m his boyfriend, you twat,” Louis growls. He swivels towards Harry without releasing his tightening grip. Despite their significant size difference, Dean can’t push him away. “Did he hurt you, baby?”

Harry gulps. “Just let him go, Louis.”

“Did he hurt you?” he repeats, louder this time.

“Yes, but it’s— I’m fine.”

Louis’s face turns red with anger. He looks at Dean with pure rage. “You hurt my boyfriend, so now I can hurt you. That sounds fair, doesn’t it?” 

He grabs the larger man by his collar and yanks him up, lifting him an inch or two off of the ground. His nose twitches at the scent of his warm blood beneath his skin. It's irresistibly delicious. 

Dean scoffs. “The bitch deserved it,” he spits.

Louis’s jaw tightens. “You’re gonna regret saying that,” he says hoarsely. His fangs tick, sharpening out of his gums. A look of horror spreads across Dean's face.  

Harry gasps. “Louis, don’t—”

But it’s too late. Louis latches onto Dean’s neck and bites him aggressively, taking out a chunk of flesh in the process. Dean shouts in pain, so Louis slaps a hand over his mouth and continues to suck greedily, draining his arteries. It’s only a matter of seconds until Dean stops screaming and passes out from blood loss.

Louis keeps his limp body pressed against the pole and continues to drink his blood. It’s warm and addicting, filling his mind with relief. He can’t think straight. His brain becomes entirely focused on feeding. He doesn’t even hear Harry’s soft cries in the background, begging him to stop even though he knows it’s too late.

Eventually, Louis lets go. His lips are red and dripping with blood. He wipes his mouth with his sleeve licks off his fangs with his tongue.

“Your turn,” Louis huffs.

“No! I can’t, Louis!”

“Harry—”

“I won’t do it!”

“The way I see it, you have two options: either finish what I’ve started or wait until we have to take another person’s life. It’s your choice,” Louis says frantically.

Harry frowns. He’s crying quietly, tears dripping down his reddened cheeks. He looks like a proper mess. The back of his brain screams at him and tells him that this is immoral, that he shouldn’t kill a human being, but he can’t resist his hunger. The scent of fresh blood is too intense. His nose twitches greedily.

“Okay,” he mumbles, taking a step forward.

“Hurry before someone sees,” Louis presses.

With shame burning in his heart, Harry bites into the other side of Dean’s neck, drinking with starvation. Once the metallic taste hits his tongue, he can’t stop. He can feel the man’s life slipping away with each swallow. His flesh feels cold and lifeless beneath his fingertips as he holds his body upright, hands pressed against his plump chest.

He sucks and sucks until there’s nothing left. When he releases, he can’t help licking at the wound for any last drop of blood. Meanwhile, Louis pulls back his shirt collar and latches onto Dean’s shoulder. He rips out a large piece of flesh and spits it out on the concrete.

“What are you doing?” Harry asks, sniffling his tears. His mouth is covered in red blood.

“Trying to make it look like an animal attack,” Louis explains, carelessly dropping the man’s body to the cold ground. “There are loads of cougars and bears around here.”

Harry whimpers and shakes his head. “I can’t believe we just did that,” he cries, staring at Dean. He’s dead and lifeless, coated in bite marks and wounds. He covers his mouth with his hands in bewilderment. 

“We have to go, _now_ ,” Louis rushes, grabbing his boyfriend’s hand.

He tugs Harry’s stunned body towards his car and forces him inside. The interior of his Porsche smells like new leather and artificial pine air freshener. Harry just stares through the windshield in shock whilst Louis starts the engine.

They start driving home without speaking a single word, listening to the faint buzz of the static radio. Louis doesn’t know what to say. He lost control, and his anger and protectiveness got the best of him.

“I’m sorry,” Louis says eventually, staring at the road. His bright headlights cast streaks of yellow across the darkened street. “I couldn’t help myself, baby. I was angry and hungry and he smelled so good. I just—”

“Stop,” Harry interrupts, turning his face to look out the window. “I don’t want to talk.”

Louis slumps back in his seat, frowning. His grip tightens on the steering wheel. “Okay.”

Meanwhile, Harry watches the trees and mountains pass by in a blur of color, subconsciously picking at his chipped nail polish. 


	28. The Roadblock

A lone wolf howl echoes through the night, sending a shiver down Harry's spine. He glances up to see a sheet of black with speckled stars and a crescent moon. As he looks out towards the horizon, he sees no other sign of humanity— no lights, no cars, no people. Just like the distant wolf, he's truly alone out here.

He's sitting on their rickety porch swing, drowning in his own thoughts and guilt. He can still taste Dean's blood on his teeth, and no matter how many times he rinses his mouth, the metallic flavor won't go away. He stares down at his lap and frowns.

Humidity sticks to his skin and causes him to sweat. The gentle hum of summertime cicadas fill the atmosphere, interlaced with cricket chirps. Every now and then, a subtle breeze sweeps through the air and brushes against Harry's face to cool him off.

He tries to clear his head, but he simply can't. He can't stop thinking about Dean. He can't stop thinking about sucking his blood and watching the life drain from his eyes. Even though Louis was the one who lost his temper, he blames himself.

"Love?"

Harry's eyes dart towards the screen door. Louis stands there with a frown on his face. His irises are no longer silver with hunger; instead, they're soft and blue like the ocean on a calm day. Harry kind of wants to drown in them.

"I told you I wanna to be alone," Harry grumbles, crossing his arms over his chest.

Louis pouts. "But I'm worried about you," he persists. He sits next to Harry on the porch swing, leaving a small gap between them. The rusted metal chains creak above them.

"Don't worry about me," Harry huffs, staring down at his feet. He's wearing a pair of muddy cowboy boots that are probably one size too large, giving his toes extra room. The brown leather is coated in scratch marks and dirt.

"But you're my bond," Louis rebuttals, lifting Harry's chin. "I love you. I need to make sure you're okay."

"I'm fine." Harry sighs and flinches away from Louis's touch. "I'm just depressed. I don't like hurting people."

"That prick deserved it," Louis insisted. "He was a homophobic arse with a brain the size of a peanut. He _hurt_ you, H."

"But—"

"No, I've had enough of this," Louis says firmly, grabbing Harry's shoulders. "You're a vampire, babe. You need to get over your fear of killing people. I know it's morally difficult, but we don't hurt the good guys. We only kill the bad ones."

Harry's bottom lip quivers ever so slightly. It's a subtle movement of vulnerability, but Louis notices it instantly. Of course he does. He also notices the slight shimmer in his eyes and knows he's on the verge of tears.

"I need you to be strong for me," Louis begins, voice low and steady.

Harry sniffles. "I'm trying."

Louis tilts his head slightly. "I'm proud of you, babe. You look a lot healthier now," he muses. "Before, you were starving yourself. I was worried sick about you."

"I'm okay," Harry assures. A beat of silence passes between them. "I suppose I should thank you for protecting me, even if you did go a little extreme."

Louis scoffs. "He punched my lovely boyfriend. Of course I lost my temper. I wanted to snap his neck."

Harry flushes and places his hand over his lower stomach. "Still kinda hurts," he admits, wincing slightly.

"Let's go back inside, darling. I'll fetch you some ice, alright?" Louis suggests, giving him a sympathetic frown.

Harry nods in agreement. Louis grins and pecks his cheek before guiding him into their house. The screen door opens up to the spacious living room, which smells like a mixture of apple cinnamon candles and smoke from the nearby fireplace. A tan couch rests against the furthest wall next to a matching reclining chair. An array of empty mugs and teacups scatter across the glass coffee table.

Gently, Louis places his hand on the small of Harry's back and nudges him towards the kitchen. Harry sits on one of the bar stools whilst Louis grabs a handful of ice and fills up a plastic zip bag. Harry gulps and lifts up his shirt to reveal his bruised stomach.

He has a bruise the size of a baseball beneath his navel, dark and purple. It looks painful. Louis frowns as he presses the ice pack against the fresh contusion. Harry winces at the sudden coldness, but he doesn't flinch away.

"Sorry, babe," Louis mutters, biting his lip apologetically. "It looks really bad."

Harry chuckles. "I've had worse," he says dismissively.

"Should I call a doctor?"

Harry briefly glances at the electronic clock on the microwave. "It's three o'clock in the morning," he grumbles. "I'll be fine. 's just a bruise."

Louis nods reluctantly and turns the ice slightly. Harry whimpers with sensitivity and jerks away. "Hurts," he croaks, .

Louis pouts. "Wanna lay down, love?"

"Yeah," Harry huffs, nodding.

Louis places a hand on Harry's hip as they walk down the short hallway leading to the master bedroom. Harry steps inside and immediately plops on the bed, resting his head on his feather-filled pillow. He holds the ice against his abdomen and stares up at the ceiling, watching the ceiling fan spin around in the midst of darkness. The faint glow of white moonlight filters through the half-closed blinds.

A few seconds later, Harry feels the mattress compress as Louis climbs on the bed next to him. He instantly grabs the hem of Harry's shirt and starts to lift it over his head. Harry grumbles in protest and swats his hand away.

"Not in the mood for sex," he sighs.

Louis laughs and shakes his head. "Relax, babe. It's just easier for you to ice your bruise if you take it off," he insists.

Harry bites his lip, blushing. "Oh, okay."

He allows Louis to take off his shirt. He lifts his arms like a child as Louis wiggles it off, pulling his hands through the holes. He tosses it aside and lets it tumble to the floor.

"Thank you," Harry says quietly, resting his head on Louis's warm chest.

Louis hums in response and starts combing his fingers absentmindedly through his curly hair. Harry relaxes under his touch and lets his eyes flutter shut. He tilts his head towards his hand like a playful kitten.

"What's gotten into you?" Louis chuckles.

Harry looks up at him with blinking gold eyes. "Nothing. I just really appreciate this."

"Appreciate what?"

"Spending time with you," Harry mumbles, toying with the rings on his fingers.

Louis raises an eyebrow curiously. "What do you mean?"

Harry bites his bottom lip and takes a deep breath. "All of my exes only cared about sex," he begins. "They didn't care about my feelings or making me feel special or making me feel loved. And although I love our sex life, sometimes it's nice to just... enjoy each other's company, y'know?"

Louis smiles and nods in agreement. He presses a light kiss to the top of his head and pulls him closer, wrapping his arms around him securely. He smells like sweet pea perfume and fresh shampoo.

"So, listen. I wanna take you out on a proper date tomorrow," Louis says slowly. "I've been planning a big surprise for a while now."

Harry can feel the ice starting to melt inside of the bag, dripping condensation down his stomach. He shivers slightly at the cold temperature, but Louis just holds him tighter. "Yeah, I'd like that," he says honestly. After all he's been though, he needs a break from reality. 

"Great," Louis breathes. "Now get some rest, my little fledgling. You've had a long day."

Harry kisses the side of his neck, right over his faded scar, and falls asleep to the steady rhythm of his lover's breathing.

-

Through a large cluster of mountains, the paved road coils and curls like a black ribbon, disappearing into the snow-capped peaks. Louis's Porsche purrs quietly as he turns around a sharp curve, avoiding the metal guardrails. Harry glances out the passenger side window and looks downward, squinting through the smudged glass. Below, he sees nothing but rocky cliffs and endless pine trees.

It's a beautiful day for traveling, Harry thinks. The temperature is warm but not too humid. The sky is a lovely shade of light blue with fluffy white clouds. A steady breeze of cold air flows through the fancy car's A/C, blowing softly against Harry's face.

On the side of the road, they spot a large green sign that reads, _Yellowstone National Park: 2 miles._

Harry grins with excitement, dimples forming in his cheeks. "We're almost there!" He bounces in his seat like a child going to an amusement park.

Louis chuckles and places his hand on his shaking knee. "Calm down, love."

Harry giggles adorably. "I can't wait to see all of the animals and Old Faithful and—"

He's interrupted when the car comes to a sudden screeching halt. Harry jerks forward and braces his hands on the dash. His eyes widen with surprise as he looks up at the windshield.

There's a small herd of bison moving slowly across the road, stopping all traffic flow. The ginormous animals look even larger in person. Their coats are a dark shade of brown, shaggy and thick for the cold mountain regions.

"Shit," Louis curses. He's gripping the steering wheel tightly with white knuckles.

The herd is less than twenty feet away, and to Louis's relief, they're completely undisturbed by the Porsche's presence. Thankfully, the park's fauna are all fairly comfortable around humans. The last thing Louis wants is for one of these 2,000 pound animals to charge after his precious car with pointy horns.

"Oh my god," Harry says breathlessly.

He takes out his phone excitedly and snaps a few photos of the herd crossing the road. The bison are moving as slow as a glacier, tightly-packed and leisurely. At this rate, they'll be waiting here for hours. Most of them have stopped to graze at the side of the road, standing in the middle of the pavement.

"What should I do?" Louis panics. "Should I turn around?"

Harry frowns. "No, I think we should just wait for them to cross. This is the only road that leads to the west park entrance."

Louis scoffs. "Are you kidding me? You want to just sit here and wait whilst we twiddle our thumbs?"

Harry just shrugs. "I'm sure we can find someway to occupy our time," he says with a smirk, lightly touching Louis's thigh.

Louis looks down at Harry's hand. "You're such a tease," he huffs, shaking his head. 

Harry just giggles and unbuckles his seatbelt. He climbs over and straddles Louis's lap so they're chest-to-chest. His bum is pressed against the steering wheel, but neither of them seem to mind. 

"We're in the middle of the road in broad daylight," Louis points out. "What if someone sees us?"

Harry rolls his eyes. "This is rural Montana, Louis. We won't see another car for miles."

He kisses Louis abruptly and teases him with his tongue. He sucks on his lower lip as Louis drops his hands to Harry's arse. He can feel his stubble scraping against his sensitive skin, causing him to whimper quietly. 

"Feeling cheeky today, are we?" Louis teases, breaking the heated kiss.

Harry looks down at him with spit-covered lips and flushed cheeks. His eyes are glossy and unfocused. Without another word, Louis kisses the side of his neck and starts to nibble at his skin with his fangs. He gradually sucks a mark above his collarbone. Harry gasps and clutches onto his shoulders, subconsciously rocking his bum against Louis's crotch.

"Lou," he breathes against his ear.

Louis just hums and flicks his tongue over the fresh hickey. He leans back and smiles with pride, thumbing over the swelling bruise. "Red looks good on you," he notes.

Harry just smiles happily and pecks Louis's lips. "Thanks."

He doesn't know what he's thanking Louis for, exactly. For giving him a love bite. For being his lover. For being endlessly kind and thoughtful and loving. It's a "thank you" for all those things, Harry supposes.

His chest feels light and airy. When he looks into Louis's eyes, he feels a lump in his throat. 

"Louis," Harry says after a few seconds of silence. He takes a deep breath. "I love you."

Louis doesn't react for a brief moment. He's shocked and ecstatic and  beyond overjoyed. After the surprise dissolves, he smiles and cups Harry's face, pressing his palms against his cheeks. He brings his face closer and pecks his lips. 

"I love you, too."

Harry grins and kisses him again, and again, and again. After a couple minutes of careless making out, Harry reluctantly climbs back into the passenger seat and holds Louis's hand, rubbing his thumb over his tattooed wrist. He's never felt this happy.

They sit together and wait patiently, watching the bison stroll by. 


	29. The Trip

    "Look!" Harry says with excitement, grabbing a pair of binoculars from the car console. He puts them up to his eyes and focuses on a brown blur in the distance. The rounded hills sculpt the landscape with mounds of vibrant green. Beneath a cluster of pine trees, a mother grizzly bear and her cub rest in the shade. Harry lights up with excitement.

    Louis gently presses the brake and stops the car in the middle of the road. The pavement is deteriorated with loose stones, cracks, and faded yellow stripes. The car windows are rolled down all the way, letting in fresh air and sunlight.

"It's a mama bear!" Harry beams, practically throwing the binoculars at Louis's face.

Louis chuckles and squints through the eyepieces. The mother and cub are lounging and eating pine nuts, completely undisturbed. The cub looks around aimlessly as its mother leans down to nuzzle against him, nose twitching.    

"They're beautiful," Louis muses, smiling widely. He sets the binoculars aside.

Harry nods in agreement and pulls out his phone. He opens up the camera app and snaps a few blurry photos. He wishes he had a nice, expensive camera with amazing zoom and crisp quality, but until he earns enough money to buy one himself, his iPhone will have to suffice.

"I wish I could show these to someone," Harry sighs, flipping through the fuzzy pictures.

Louis raises an eyebrow. "What do you mean, love?"

Harry shrugs and continues staring at his screen to avoid eye contact. "I dunno. It's just— I miss my old friends. I know it sounds silly, but I— I wish I could post things online without feeling like my life was at risk," he murmurs. "It's all Liam's fault."

Louis frowns and places his hand on Harry's knee, squeezing lightly. "It's my fault, too."

Harry scoffs and rolls his eyes. "Don't be ridiculous. You weren't the one who tried to cut my throat with a broken beer bottle."

"No, but I did change you."

"For the better," Harry assures, finally meeting Louis's gaze. A beat of conversational silence passes between them. Harry sighs. "I'm sorry for complaining, Lou. I just— I'm still trying to adjust to the whole _new life_ thing."

Louis gives a weak half-smile and takes Harry's hand in his own. He brings it up to his lips and presses a light kiss to his knuckles. Harry blushes and flutters his lashes.

"Let's keep driving," Louis says softly, shifting the car into drive.

They start cruising through the national park, admiring the beautiful scenery and wild animals. They encounter a small herd of caribou, a few bighorn sheep, and more bison than there are stars in the sky. Around noon, they pause at a picnic area to rest and stretch.

Afterwards, they stop near Old Faithful and watch the geyser erupt three times. They go to the sulfur cauldron and mud volcano, and Harry has to plug his nose to block out the horrid scent. Downsides of having a superhuman sense of smell.

They finish up their trip at the grand prismatic springs. Thanks to Harry's clumsiness, they nearly fall off the narrow boardwalk into a pool of steaming hot water.

But thankfully, Louis is there to catch him when he falls.

-

They leave Yellowstone National Park around seven o'clock in the evening and start driving back to Whitehall. The near-three hour drive leaves both Louis and Harry feeling completely exhausted after a long day of adventure. When they finally reach their home, they stumble inside tiredly and make their way to the bedroom.

Harry doesn't even bother changing into proper pajamas. Instead, he just strips down to his skimpy pink underwear and climbs in bed without a single word. Louis stands on the opposite side of the room with a smirk on his face, while Harry just stares at him with false innocence.

"What?" he asks, blinking with wide, green eyes.

He's lounging on the mattress on top of tangled white sheets. His long, pale legs are slightly spread outwards. His chest slowly rises and falls with each steady breath, causing the wings on his moth tattoo to flutter.

"You're such a tease," Louis tsks, rolling his eyes.

Harry giggles adorably. "What do you mean, babe? I'm just getting comfortable."

Louis scoffs and changes into a pair of joggers, leaving his stomach bare. Harry can't help but stare at his chest hair and tattoos. He climbs in bed and wraps his arms around Harry's waist, holding him close. If Louis had a heartbeat, it'd be thudding against Harry's shoulder like a drum.

"Thank you for surprising me," Harry says softly. "I had fun today."

The room is dark, almost pitch black. White moonlight streams in through the nearby window, leaking through the half-closed blinds. Louis's hand is resting casually on Harry's hip. His flesh feels as cold and smooth as ice.

"I'm glad," Louis murmurs, breath tickling the back of Harry's neck. He shivers slightly.

"I love you," Harry says for the second time that day.

Louis's throat tightens. "I love you, too. So much."

Harry smiles and turns his head slightly, connecting his lips with Louis's. They share a slow, lazy kiss in the midst of darkness. Harry grins into the snog like an idiot. He feels so happy he could burst with joy.

"Let's get some rest, yeah?" Louis suggests, brushing the hair out of Harry's eyes.

    "Already?" Harry asks apprehensively. "I thought you might want to... y'know."

    He even has the audacity to wiggle his eyebrows. Louis laughs.

    "I do, but after seeing you in these," he says, thumbing at the hem of Harry's underwear, "I want to wreck you. And frankly, I need energy for that."

    Harry whimpers in the back of his throat. "Daddy," he whines.

    Louis chuckles and pecks his cheek. "Sleep," he repeats. "I promise to deflower you in the morning, my love."

    Harry blushes and nuzzles his face into the crook of Louis's neck. "Love you," he repeats, voice deep and slow with exhaustion.

    Louis holds him closer and feels like he's holding the entire world in his grasp. "Rest up, my little fledgling."

    Harry dozes off just moments later, dreaming about snow-capped mountains and wild bison.

-

Harry awakes to the scent of coffee. His heavy eyes slowly begin to open, flashing luminance behind his eyelids. He can feel the bright light stinging his sensitive skin, so he yanks the sheets up to his chin and sighs. He looks up to see Louis perched at the edge of the bed, holding two steaming mugs.

"Hi," he says softly, passing one of the mugs to Harry. Even though he can't taste it, the scent of coffee makes him feel alert and awake. Plus, the warmth helps soothe his throat.

Harry takes a big sip. "Thanks," he murmurs and sets the mug on the bedside table. He rubs his eyes tiredly with his knuckles, letting out a kittenish yawn. "What time 's it?"

"Almost noon," Louis answers, laughing dryly. "For someone who doesn't need sleep to survive, you sure like to sleep a lot."

Harry rolls his eyes playfully. "Excuse me? I wanted to stay up late and have sex with my boyfriend for hours on end. You're the one who was tired, you old fart."

Louis gasps, pretending to be offended. "Two hundred and twenty-six is not _that_ old, Harold."

Harry scoffs. "You're ancient. Are you sure you don't need a viagra prescription?"

Louis growls teasingly sets his coffee aside to straddle Harry's waist, planting his thighs on either side of him. He rips the sheet away from his chest and starts kissing down his torso, causing Harry to giggle and brush his hands through Louis's feathery hair.

Louis's mouth travels to suck at one of Harry's nipples, causing him to inhale sharply. His tongue circles the pink bud until it's hard. Harry whimpers and bucks up his hips. Louis can feel the outline of his erection beneath him, straining against his tight pink panties.

    "Lou," Harry whines, eyes glossy with need. His lips are as red as roses.

    "Hm?" Louis asks, kissing up the column of Harry's throat. He uses his fangs to nibble at the sensitive skin below Harry's ear. Harry moans and claws at Louis's back with desperation.

    "Need you," Harry begs, curling his legs around Louis's waist. He starts to rub their cocks together, trying to find some sort of friction. Louis just continues to suck a mark on his neck. His sharp teeth feel like needles.

    "Are you sure I don't need to take some viagra first?" Louis asks rhetorically. "Am I not hard enough for you?" For emphasis, he presses his díck against Harry's thigh and starts rutting against him.

    Harry whimpers in the back of his throat. "Daddy, please. No teasing."

    Louis just tsks. "Then maybe you shouldn't make fun of me for being old, hm?"

    "Daddy," Harry repeats, voice already wrecked. "I'm sorry."

    "You were a bad boy, H," Louis says smoothly and confidently. Harry gulps. "I think you deserve a little punishment, right?"

    Harry looks up at Louis like he hung the moon. "I'll take anything you give me, Daddy."

    Louis licks his lips and thinks for a few moments. He wants to wreck him. He wants to see him desperate and needy and begging for him to fuck him. He wants everything.

    "Gonna spank you," Louis decides. "Hands and knees, baby."

    Harry immediately scampers into position, planting his palms flat against the sheets. Louis kneels behind him and slowly traces the knobs of his spine, moving his finger down his back. His skin is a pretty shade of porcelain, soft and delicate.

"You look so gorgeous in these, baby," Louis says seductively, grabbing the hem of Harry's panties. They're outlined with white lace. "It's a shame I have to take them off, but I wanna see how red I can make your arse."

Harry's breath shudders as Louis pushes down his underwear just enough to expose his bum. He starts kneading into his arse cheeks, feeling the soft flesh in his cold hands. Harry's head hangs low as he squeezes the sheets with tight knuckles.

"What's your color, babe?" Louis asks lightly, dragging his dull nails against Harry's arse.

"Green," Harry assures, nodding frantically.

Louis smiles. "Good. Tell me if it turns red, okay?"

He starts with a light spank against his left cheek. It's barely even a swat, but it makes Harry whimper with desperation and push back against Louis's hand, begging for more. 

"Harder," Harry begs, voice trembling. "I'm not made of glass."

Louis smirks and brings his hand back further, spanking him hard. The audible smack snaps in Harry's ears and makes them ring with pleasure. He lets out a muffled moan and bites his bottom lip with his fangs.

"Count them off, Harry. I'm giving you ten for sassing me."

Harry barely gets out a nod before Louis spanks him again. It's hot and painful and amazing at the same time. He lurches forward and winces.

"One," he chokes out.

 _Smack_.

"Two!"

 _Smack_.

"Th-three!"

_Smack, smack, smack._

Harry moans in pleasure. "Four, five, six."

Louis spanks him again, admiring the way his bum is pink with the outline of his hand. He's practically glowing. He wants to engrave this picture in his memory forever.

After the tenth spank, Harry sighs and lets out a relieved, "Ten, Daddy."

Louis smirks and leans back on his heels, admiring his work. His bum is pretty and red. He presses a kiss to each of his arse cheeks, making the younger man shudder.

"Fuck me, please?"

Louis chuckles and stands up from the bed. He calmly walks to the bedside table and grabs the lube from the cluttered drawer, next to countless uncapped pens, sticky notes, and old receipts. He returns to the mattress and squirts some onto his forefingers.

"Since you asked so nicely," Louis teases, circling his rim slowly. "You took your spanking so well, baby. You deserve to feel good."

Harry whimpers. "Thank you, Daddy."

Louis slowly presses in his finger, easing it in slowly. He's tight. He gives him some time to adjust and pushes in further, feeling his walls constrict around his digit. He gradually adds a second and starts scissoring him open. Harry groans in pleasure and pushes back against him, causing his fingertips to brush over his prostate.

His entire body twitches with sensitivity. He flutters his lashes and gasps brokenly, dropping to his forearms. He pants heavily against the sheets.

"Gonna fuck you now," Louis says, pushing down his joggers. He's not wearing any pants beneath them.

He's fully hard and aching for relief. He tugs his erection a few times and adds some extra lube to his shaft. Then, he lines up with Harry's stretched hole that's clenching around nothing, trying to find the girth of Louis's fingers. He presses his tip in slowly, ripping out a strangled moan from Harry's bubblegum lips.

"You okay, baby?" Louis asks apprehensively, settling his hands on Harry's pudgy hips.

Harry lets out a shuddered breath and nods. "Y-yeah, I'm just— feels good, Daddy. I promise."

Louis nods and pushes in further until he's flush against Harry's reddened bum. Harry's shoulders tense up as he tightens his grip on the bed sheets. Louis looms over his bare back and presses a light kiss to his shoulder blade.

"Daddy loves you."

Harry whimpers. "Love you, too."

Louis starts with shallow, slow thrusts. Harry moans and rocks back against him. He hits his sweet spot with each jolt of his hips. Eventually, he works up the pace.

The sounds of slapping skin and intertwined moans fill the atmosphere. Harry's body pulses around Louis's bare cock. He feels so full and loved and stretched beyond comprehension. He'll never grow tired of this sensation.

The headboard rocks against the wall, thudding loudly. Thankfully, they don't have any neighbors within a half kilometer radius. They can be as loud as they want.

"So tight," Louis seethes, thrusting his hips faster. His hole feels slick and smooth with lube. It feels more intimate without a condom— more raw, perhaps. More real.

Harry cries out in pleasure, feeling his eyes burn with tears. "Wanna come, Daddy. Please."

Louis tugs on Harry's hair, eliciting a high-pitched whine. "Come."

There's a certain animalistic growl in his tone that makes Harry orgasm on command, untouched. His entire body shudders like the aftershocks of an earthquake. His arms and legs give out completely, so he turns his face against the mattress and tries to catch his breath.

_Inhale, exhale, repeat._

Through the mind-numbness, Harry's faintly aware of Louis thrusting in him sloppily, rutting into him like a dog in heat. After a few moments, Louis comes inside of him. It's wet and messy, but Harry loves it. He whimpers and tightens around Louis's softening cock.

"Gonna plug you up," Louis says. "Clench for me, okay?"

Louis slowly eases out, and Harry tries his best. Louis quickly finds Harry's favorite butt plug in the box under the bed. It's purple and thick with a jewel at the base.

He climbs back on bed and slips the toy into his hole, keeping his come inside. Harry smiles stupidly and looks over his shoulder, eyes hazy.

"Thank you, Daddy."

Louis chuckles and leans down to kiss Harry slowly and passionately. He loves his idiot with all his heart. He's never felt like this before, and he's lived for longer than two centuries.

"Your bum is red," says Louis, noticing the effect of his spanking. "I'll get some lotion, okay?"

Harry pecks his lips and lies on his tummy while Louis fetches some aloe and soothing lotion from the bathroom. When he returns, he proceeds to massage Harry's swollen arse and gives him showers of praises and kisses.

Then, they promptly begin round two.


	30. The Gift

Fresh snow crunches beneath Harry's boots as he walks along the concrete path that leads to the front porch. With each heavy exhale, a cloud of visible breath blows out through his red, chapped lips. He can feel the cold metal of the doorknob through his thick knitted mittens as he steps into the house. He's immediately surrounded by warm air and the comforting scent of vanilla candles.

"I'm home!" Harry calls out, taking off his fleece scarf. He hangs it on the coat rack next to Louis's favorite Adidas hoodie.

"In the kitchen, love!" Louis replies, voice soft and calm.

Harry smiles and walks under the archway. Louis stands in front of the granite counter top with a Santa-themed apron tied around his waist. His hands are coated in white flour. He's using a cookie cutter to make perfectly-shaped gingerbread men.

"You're baking," Harry notes, raising an eyebrow. "Have you forgotten that we're vampires?"

Louis scoffs. "I know, I just— I love baking Christmas biscuits, even if I can't taste them. It's just a tradition, you know?"

Harry leans against the counter and furrows his brows. "Tradition?"

"Yes," Louis hums. "Rachel and I used to bake cookies with our son, Landon, back in the '60s."

"Rachel?"

"One of my ex-wives."

Harry's heart thuds against his chest. "You said you never had kids," he says, confusion filling his voice, sprinkled with a hint of fear. "I thought it was impossible for vampires and humans to... y'know. Make babies." Why would Louis lie to him about having a child?

Louis chuckles and places his hand on Harry's arm, soothing him. "Calm down, love. Landon was my stepson from Rachel's previous marriage."

Harry frowns. "Were you two close?"

"Yeah. I mean— he was practically my son for eleven years before I had to relocate," Louis says passively, as if merely discussing the weather. "We lived in Michigan."

He bites his tongue with concentration as he cuts another gingerbread man. With pride, he places it on the baking sheet next to the growing army of little cookies. He gives a satisfactory smile and looks at his boyfriend lovingly.

But Harry's just staring back at him, face flat, impossible to read.

"What?" Louis asks, curious.

"You can't— you can't just casually mention that you had a stepson and then _not_ talk about it."

Louis laughs awkwardly. "I didn't think you'd be interested. You never wanted to talk about my former marriages before."

"I care about you, Louis. Your past is important to me," Harry assures.

Louis nods slowly. A fraction of silence passes between them. "Okay, well... Landon was only two years old when his biological father passed away. It was a motorcycle accident in November of 1960. Rachel was... heartbroken. I was a grief counselor at the time, so that's how we met. She was really sweet, kind, and incredibly beautiful. We married after only three months of dating," he begins, voice soft, as if trying not to damage Harry's delicate feelings. It felt awkward to discuss his previous relationships with him, even if they were all fake. Even if he never really loved any of his wives in more than a platonic way.

"Anyway, Landon was a really sweet kid. Smart, too. He loved dinosaurs and soccer and our dog, Rex," Louis continues. He keeps waiting to see a sign of sorrow on Harry's face, maybe a subtle lip quiver or a bit of shimmer in his eyes, but there's nothing. Which is good.

"Did they know you were a vampire?" Harry wonders out loud. "Rachel and Landon, I mean."

"They knew, of course. It's difficult to keep being a vampire a secret when you're in a house with mirrors and a wife who loves to take Polaroid pictures," he explains, laughing dryly at the bittersweet memories. "And that's what made leaving them so— difficult. I think they knew I couldn't stick around forever, deep down, but maybe they were in denial. I can't stay in one place for too long, no matter how much I want to. So I just took off one day and fled to Canada without an explanation. I— I left a fucking note. I abandoned my thirteen year old son with nothing more than an _I'm sorry_ on a sticky note."

His voice cracks painfully. A single tear slips down his cheek, but he instantly wipes it away, muttering an apology under his breath.

Harry hushes him and pulls him close, wrapping him in his arms. Louis presses his face against his shoulder and sniffles whilst Harry combs through his hair. His fingertips feel like ice. A familiar sting of sadness scratches up his throat. He tries to fight back the tears, doesn't want to cry in front of Harry. He's supposed to be the strong one.

"It's okay," Harry whispers, rubbing his back. "You didn't have any other choice."

"He'd be fifty-eight years old today," Louis mumbles. "I don't— I don't even know if he's still alive."

Harry frowns and presses a light kiss to his temple. "I love you so much."

Louis pulls back slightly and forces out a smile. It's not genuine, and his eyes don't even crinkle, but at least it's something.

"I love you, too," he assures. He scrubs his eyes with his knuckles. "I'm sorry for getting all worked up. I'm in the kitchen crying when we're supposed to be jolly and gleeful. Christmas is in three days, for fuck's sake."

Harry just shakes his head. "It's okay to be sad, Louis. I'm actually kinda— relieved. I'm glad you told me, so thank you." 

Louis nods understandingly, but he doesn't say anything. Doesn't want to drag the conversation any further. Instead, he silently swipes his finger across the counter to coat it with flour and taps the tip of Harry's nose. Harry just bites back a grin whilst Louis giggles to himself, cheeks pink. Tears gone.

"You're cute," Louis complements, poking his white-tipped nose again. "My little Rudolph."

"Rudolph's nose is red."

"Oh, just shut up and kiss me."

Harry easily compiles and presses his lips against Louis's. It feels as natural as breathing. They kiss lazily for a minute or two, just brushing their mouths together softly, nuzzling noses. A bit of flour rubs off on Louis's face, but he doesn't mind. 

Louis breaks the kiss and brushes his thumb across Harry's cheek. "So, enough about my depressing life. How was work, baby?"

Harry sighs. He grabs Louis's hand and begins toying with his fingers, distracting himself. "Long. Tiring."

Louis smirks. "Sounds like my dick."

Harry rolls his eyes teasingly. "Despite being over two hundred years old, you have the maturity of a pubescent boy."

Louis chuckles and pecks Harry's lips. "Alright, babe. Let's get in the holiday spirit. Enough of this sad skeletons in the closet shit. Do you wanna decorate the Christmas tree?"

Harry's eyes widen. "You got a tree?"

"Yeah, bought one from that farm down the street," Louis explains, grabbing Harry's hand. He leads him to the nearby living room where their tree stands, seven feet tall. It's slim and the needles are a bit sharp, but it's perfect nonetheless. Harry can smell the fresh scent of pine floating in the room.

"I even bought some new baubles," Louis says happily, showing him the box filled with colorful, shiny balls.

Harry grins. "They're lovely, Louis."

"Pretty, aren't they? This one reminds me of your eyes," says Louis, holding up a large, green ornament. He hangs the bauble on the tree near the top, stretching up his arm.

Harry watches fondly. "Do you need a stool?"

Louis sends him a death glare. "I was average height in the late 1700's. Fuck you, Harold."

Harry wiggles his eyebrows suggestively. "Promise?"

Louis laughs and grabs Harry's shoulders, pulling him in for a chaste kiss. Harry stares down at him with wide, viridescent eyes filled with admiration.

"And you say _I'm_ the immature one."

-

It's 12:01 a.m. on Christmas Eve when Harry pounces on Louis in their bed, awakening him from his light slumber. The entire mattress shakes as he plants light kisses all over his bare chest. He rests his hands on his ribs, feeling the coldness of his flesh and the bulges of his bones.

Louis's eyes slowly flutter open, nose crinkled in annoyance. It's kind of adorable.

"What?" he asks, voice hoarse. He sounds like he smokes a pack a day.

Harry's eyes glimmer in the moonlight from the nearby window. His pale skin looks even whiter in the dark. Louis subconsciously settles his hands on Harry's thighs, as if they just _belong_ there. His skin is smooth and freshly shaved. He blinks slowly and looks up at Harry with confusion.

"It's Christmas Eve," Harry says blatantly. He leans down and kisses Louis's still, unmoving lips. "Happy 227th birthday, my love."

Louis's mouth gapes open a bit. He takes a few seconds to process. "You remembered," he says breathlessly.

"Of course I did. Why wouldn't I remember my boyfriend's birthday?"

Louis shrugs (or at least _tries_ to shrug whilst lying down). "I dunno. I've had 227 of them. Kinda makes it seem less special, right?"

Harry frowns and shakes his head. "I don't care how old you are— it's still your birthday."

Louis smiles softly and grabs the loose fabric of Harry's t-shirt, pulling him closer to kiss him. It's slow and casual, comfortable, and Louis's the one leading it. He bites down on Harry's bottom lip as he pulls back, blushing.

"I got you a present," he mumbles.

Louis raises his eyebrows. "A sexy present?"

Harry laughs and lightly slaps Louis's chest. "No, it's— you'll see."

Quickly, he hops off Louis's tummy and reaches under their bed, pulling out a small rectangular box. It's wrapped in silver wrapping paper that has penguins printed all over it. There's even a tiny red bow stuck on top.

"Wrapped it myself," Harry says proudly, placing it in Louis's lap.

Louis grins. "You didn't have to buy me anything, H."

"Shut up and open it," Harry teases, rolling his eyes.

Louis chuckles and rips off the wrapping paper to reveal a long, velvet box. He opens it. Inside, there's a customized gold ink pen with an engraving on the side. The metallic surface is reflective in the dim lighting. He reads the writing with watery eyes. _H + L_.

"You mentioned that you prefer handwriting over typewriting and, well, you need to finish those damn research articles sooner or later," Harry explains, smiling fondly. "Might as well have something nice to write with."

Louis doesn't say anything at first. He just throws his arms around Harry and buries his face in the crook of his neck. He smells like lavender body wash. He presses light kisses down the column of his throat to his collarbones, ghosting over his scar.

"I—" Kiss. "Love—" Kiss. "You."

Harry giggles and hugs him tighter. "I'm glad you like it."

Louis pecks his cheek and carefully sets the pen on the bedside table. He grabs Harry's larger hands and tugs him up on his feet with the excitement and energy of a child.

"Let's go celebrate my birthday!" he exclaims. "I wanna go ice skating. You only turn 227 once!"

 


	31. The Apothecary

Louis’s icy fingers interlock with Harry’s as he guides them through the darkness. In his other hand, he holds two pairs of ice skates they bought at a yard sale a few weeks prior: white ones for Louis and purple ones for Harry. Damp earth squishes beneath their boots while they trot down the dirt trail, which is coated in a thin layer of crisp snow. This slush-filled path is the system of veins threaded throughout the farm, all connecting back to its beating heart— the pond.

It’s a small body of water tucked away in the woods behind the cow pasture. It was often green with algae and smelled like a rotting sewer, but Louis loves it nonetheless. In the fall, he liked to sit at the edge and watch the little minnows swim around in circles.

Now, it’s completely frozen. A thick layer of ice covers the entire surface. The forest is a winter wonderland of snow and icicles hanging from skeletal branches. Despite being cold and lifeless, Harry’s warm breath exhales into a cloud of visible air.

“We’re ice skating _here_?” Harry asks with disbelief.

Louis just shrugs and hands Harry his skates. “Why not?”

Harry scoffs. “Is this even safe?”

“Who cares? We’re immortal.”

“ _I_ care,” Harry rebuttals, crossing his arms over his chest like a child. “Can’t we go ice skating somewhere in the city? There’s a few rinks in Missoula.”

“It’s one o’clock in the morning, H, and I’m very impatient,” Louis chuckles. “Besides, do you know how crowded those places will be on Christmas Eve?”

Harry pouts. “But—”

“It’s my _birthday_ ,” Louis begs, fluttering his eyelashes. “Please?”

Harry frowns and slumps his shoulders with defeat. He can’t really argue with that. “Fine, but only for a little while,” he reasons.

Louis lights up like a Christmas tree. He kisses Harry’s cheek before sitting on a fallen log to take off his boots and slip on his skates. He bites his tongue between his teeth while he ties the laces, making sure to double knot them. Harry reluctantly puts on his own as well. They’re a little too tight and squish his toes a bit, but they’ll have to suffice.

“C’mon,” Louis hums, grabbing Harry’s hands.

His legs wobble as he stands up and guides him towards the pond. He carefully steps onto the icy surface, using his boyfriend for balance. Once he’s comfortable, he lets go and takes a few cautious strides across the pond.

“It’s fine, love! If you can handle twirling around a pole and shaking your arse without falling, you can do this,” Louis assures, seeing the nervous look on Harry’s face.

“I’ll break through the ice.”

“Oh, please. It can support my big bum.”

Harry blushes faintly. “Fine. Come help me, then.”

Louis smirks and skates towards Harry. He lets him grasp his shoulder as he leads him onto the ice. His wide green eyes stare down at his feet, as if searching for a small crack in the ice. Louis just laughs and grabs him by the hips, holding him steadily.

“See? It’s fine,” Louis says, kissing the tip of Harry’s reddened nose.

“I wasn’t nervous about falling. I know how to skate. I was just nervous about the ice being, like, unstable.”

“You’ve skated before?” Louis asks curiously.

Harry nods slowly. “Yeah, erm— my mum loved to take us skating around Christmas when I was a kid. Gemma and I used to compete to see who could do the coolest tricks.”

Louis smiles fondly. “That’s sweet.”

The younger vampire just shrugs and attempts to drop the subject. He takes a few laps around the pond while staring up at the sky, watching the snow filter down from the heavens. He sticks out his tongue to catch a few flakes.

“Do you miss them?” Louis ponders out loud.

Harry stops in his tracks. His skates leave claw-like marks on the ice. “Who?”

“Your family. You never really talk about them.”

Harry swallows the lump in his throat. “We ended on bad terms. Dad called me a failure for dropping out of college. Gemma blamed my boyfriend at the time, said he was a bad influence. Mum said I was throwing my future away,” he rambles. “They never bothered trying to find me after that, so I guess they don’t care.”

Louis frowns and glides closer to Harry, cupping his jaw. He forces him to look up. “I’m sure that’s not true. Maybe they just—”

“I don’t wanna talk about it, Lou. It’s your birthday and tomorrow’s Christmas, so I just wanna… be happy, okay?”

Louis’s lips flatten. “Okay,” he agrees.

Harry drops a grateful kiss on his chapped lips. “Alright,” he murmurs before smirking mischievously. “Race you around the pond!”

Louis laughs and follows him as fast as possible, smiling as wide as the moon.

~

Louis decides to bring it up two weeks later.

They’re both lounging in the living room enjoying a lazy Sunday. Harry’s typing a long message on his phone (the new iPhone 7 that Louis bought him for Christmas because he can’t _not_ spoil his baby) while Louis reads an old book written by an Italian philosopher. Perks of knowing multiple languages, he supposes.

They took down the Christmas tree and decorations after New Years, but there’s still little pine needles scattered across the hardwood floors. The air smells like smoke and linen-scented air freshener. Outside, snow falls from the sky in large, heavy flakes.

His reading glasses are perched at the tip of his nose, and he keeps looking up from his book to steal glances at his boyfriend. He looks adorable like this— cuddled up on the sofa, wrapped in a fleece blanket. The fireplace makes his pale skin glow with flickers of orange.

Louis clears his throat and places his bookmark between the pages. “Love?”

Harry hums in response.

“How would you feel about taking a little holiday?”

Harry furrows his brows and looks up, meeting Louis’s gaze. “I’d have to ask my boss for time off at the bar, so I dunno. What’d you have in mind?”

“England.”

Harry’s eyes widen a little. “What?”

“I quite miss it.”

Harry scoffs. “Are you kidding me, Lou? What about Liam? Have you forgotten that he threatened to expose us?”

Louis sighs and stands up from the rocking chair. He sits down next to Harry on the sofa, resting a hand on his thigh. “I haven’t forgotten, H, but it’s not that difficult to avoid him. He basically _lives_ at Fool’s Gold, anyway.”

“Even so, why would I want to go back there? Why would _you_ want to go back there?”

Louis tilts his head a little. “Don’t you miss your friends? Your family?” he asks slowly. “I’m worried about you. I just don’t want you to be lonely.”

Harry gives a dry, humorless laugh. “First of all, I didn’t have _friends_. I had one friend, Zayn, and he’s probably better off without me. Second of all, my family hates me.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do, Louis.”

“You’re not willing to give them a chance?”

“No. You don’t know my parents,” Harry insists, staring at the individual stitches in the blanket. The lump in his throat bobs up and down. “My dad worked a white-collared job at a law firm and my mum was a real estate agent. They both grew up in the suburbs and went to university. They don't believe in... alternative lifestyles. If they knew what I am— what I _was_ — they’d be so disappointed.”

Louis scoffs. “Being a stripper isn’t the _worst_ thing in the world, Harry.”

“To them, it is.”

The eldest vampire bites his lip with his fangs, suppressing a frown. “Baby, listen to me. You’re immortal now. Do you understand what that means? You’re going to keep on living while you watch every human you’ve ever loved die, including your parents and sister. Can you honestly say that you won’t regret not forgiving them?”

Harry doesn’t say anything. He keeps his gaze focused on his lap.

“Please consider it,” Louis implores. “I never… reconnected with my parents after they accused me of witchcraft, and that’s something I’ll have to live with for the rest of my life.”

Harry finally looks up, eyes tired and sad. Flecks of gold sparkle in his green irises, indicating his thirst for blood. They haven’t had a proper meal in a few weeks.

“What happened after they banished you?”

Louis takes a deep breath. “I went to Germany and met a wise apothecary in Cochem. Her name was Johannah. She was familiar with vampirism and recognized the bite mark on my neck. I thought she might be able to cure me and turn me back into a human. She tried all different kinds of potions and herbs, but nothing worked.”

“She adopted me as her apprentice and continued to try to cure me over the years. She took samples of my venom and studied it, trying to find an antidote. She taught me all about healing and natural remedies. She sort of… became the mother figure I always wanted.”

“Eventually, she became very ill, but none of her medicines eased her pain. She spent her entire life healing others, yet she was unable to heal herself. I could see her slipping away, slowly dying, and so I had no other choice.”

He pauses to blink away the tears in his eyes. Harry just frowns and reaches over to hold his hand, squeezing it lightly.

“I bit her,” Louis chokes out. “I turned her into a vampire so she could live forever, but I almost didn’t stop sucking her blood— I almost killed her. Once you bite a human, the thirst is almost... possessive. Unstoppable.”

“But you _did_ stop,” Harry says, caressing his cold cheek. “You saved her life, right?”

“I suppose I did,” Louis muses, “but I almost lost her. She almost died without knowing how much I loved her. I don’t want that to happen to you, baby.”

Harry drops his hand and twiddles with his fingers absentmindedly. “Where is Jay now?”

“She lives in Peru, teaching natural medicine to natives.”

“Do you still talk to her?”

“We send each other letters often.”

Harry nods slowly. A few seconds of silence beat between them. The fireplace crackles to fill the quietness.

“I can’t guarantee that my parents will be happy to see me, but perhaps getting some closure would be a good thing,” Harry mumbles. “Plus, it'd be nice for you to know the people who raised me. And maybe, if you’re okay with it, I could meet Jay someday too.”

Louis’s smile widens. “So is that a yes?”

Harry sighs. “Yes, Louis. Go book a flight to London.”

Louis explodes with happiness. He squishes Harry’s cheeks between his palms and smashes their lips together. He kisses him messily for a long moment, just enjoying the softness of his pink lips and wet tongue. He licks over his sharp fangs, eliciting a quiet whimper.

“Lou,” Harry whines, pulling back slightly.

“I love you so damn much, Harry Styles,” Louis says earnestly. “I’m so glad I asked you for a lap dance when we first met.”

Harry blushes and pecks his lips. “Right back at you, Louis Tomlinson.” 


	32. The Reunion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... long time, no see. I want to apologize for keeping this book off my to-do list for so long. I'm a full-time college student with two jobs, so finding free time isn't exactly easy for me. However, I absolutely love this book and hope at least one person is still reading this after all this time. I already have half of the next chapter written, so it won't be another 7,273 years until the next update. I promise. Comments, kudos, and feedback are very appreciated! Thanks for your patience.
> 
> \- Cara

The airport is crowded, causing Harry to latch onto Louis's hand in fear of losing him in the large mass of people. Bright sunlight filters through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the terminal, and the air smells like a mixture of sweat and sweetened coffee from the nearby Starbucks kiosk. Chatter floats through the air in the midst of a loud, continuous buzz that causes Harry to grit his teeth together. He feels the sharpness of his fangs against his tongue.

"Feels good to be home," Louis muses, trying to distract Harry's chaotic mind.

Harry nods slowly. "Guess so."

He's nervous, and Louis can sense it, but he chooses to ignore it. He's terrified about meeting his parents after over two years of separation. The last time they spoke, it was a complete and utter disaster. Harry told them he'd dropped out of university to become a stripper full time, but that wasn't even the last straw. What  _really_ pushed them over the edge was when Harry started draining all of his college funds to pay for drugs and alcohol.

His mother wanted to help him, to send him to a rehabilitation center, but he refused. He told her she didn't know anything about his life— that she'd never understand. And then he packed his things, moved to another city, adopted a new persona, and changed his phone number. He just... disappeared.

There was always a part of him that hoped his family would come looking for him, but they never did.

"Stop thinking so hard," Louis scolds softly.

Harry bites his lip. "Sorry."

"Don't apologize, baby. Just relax."

Harry stifles a laugh. "I can't relax. I'm about to show up on my parents' doorstep unannounced after they practically disowned me."

Louis tilts his head. "They didn't  _disown_ you."

"You weren't there."

"They love you, Harry."

"How do you know that?"

"Because you're very loveable."

Harry laughs with bitterness and shakes his head. "They never bothered looking for me. They don't care."

"Well, you didn't exactly make yourself very reachable, did you? Practically changed your entire identity."

Harry stops in the middle of the terminal, his eyebrows scrunched together. "Are you actually  _defending_ my parents? They tried to send me away, Louis. Whose side are you on?"

Louis huffs and grabs Harry's hands, holding them in his own. "No, baby, I'm not taking their side, I just— I  _know_ what it's like to be abandoned. My birth parents disowned me back in France a... long time ago. And to me, it seems like your parents were just concerned about you. Maybe they went 'bout it the wrong way, but you were in a dark place in your life. You can't blame them for being worried about you."

Harry frowns. "You don't know my parents, Lou."

"Maybe not, but I do know you," Louis rebuttals. "And I know nobody in their right mind would want to cut you out of their life."

Harry's cheeks pinken a little. Wordlessly, Louis reaches up and caresses Harry's soft cheek. He presses a gentle kiss to his forehead before holding his hand again and leading him towards the airport exit. When they're finally outside, Harry breathes in the smoggy air of the city and instantly feels at home. An overcast of dull, grey clouds deprives the sky of sunlight, making Louis's skin look even paler than normal.

Harry looks over at his boyfriend and can't help but smile as he tries to wave over a taxi. Despite the cloudy weather, his silver eyes seem to glow like the moon in the dark. Harry clutches onto the cold, pale flesh of his bicep and exhales into the chilly air, creating a visible cloud with his breath.

Louis bites his lip while they wait for a black cab to pull up to the curb. "Hey, love? If this doesn't work out, I just want you to know—"

Harry interrupts him with a peck on the lips and looks down at him reassuringly. "Don't worry. You're the only family I need, okay?"

Louis smiles sadly and kisses Harry on the lips. "Agreed."

°°°

The lump in Harry's throat is growing larger with each passing second. He's standing in front of his parents' house with his hands balled up in the oversized sleeves of his sweater. The house looks pretty much the same— not much has changed over the last two years. He can see the faint glimmer of Christmas tree lights shining behind sheer curtains in the window.

It's almost nighttime; there's a white crescent moon behind the clouds in the dusk sky. The train from London to Holmes Chapel took longer than anticipated. Regardless, the ride gave Harry some time to think about his family. About how much he loves them, deep down, despite the angry facade he often wears. And how much he's missed them.

He subconsciously rubs the  _Anne_ tattoo on his bicep. The house looks the same, not that he expected anything less. The yellow siding appears bright and cheery in contrast to the dreary weather. On the front porch is an old, cracked flower pot that has Harry and Gemma's little handprints pasted on the side with pastel-colored paint. The marigolds inside of it are wilted and decayed.

"Hey," Louis says gently, lightly touching his boyfriend's shoulder. "You ready?"

Harry inhales a sharp breath of cold air. "No," he admits quietly.

"If you don't want to do this—"

"I have to," Harry insists, blinking away the tears in his eyes. "Even if this ends badly, I just— I need closure."

Louis bites his bottom lip. "Okay."

Harry stands there for a few more seconds, staring up at the house he called  _home_  for eighteen years. Somehow, he feels like a stranger, as though this is uncharted territory. He slowly walks up the steps, holding in a deep breath, and raises his hand to the door. He knocks three times and immediately withdraws his hand as if he'd touched a hot stove. Louis stands beside him, watching Harry twitch with nervousness out of the corner of his eye.

Harry hears footsteps. His chest tightens. The lock turns.

The door opens, revealing a large man with grey, thinning hair and wire-rimmed glasses. He's wearing an argyle jumper with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His entire body seems to freeze when he sees Harry, and his eyes look up and down his ]stepson with disbelief. The corners of his mouth twitch.

"Oh my," the man, Robin, exhales.

Harry's throat feels clogged. "Hi," he breathes out in a low, raspy voice.

"Harry," his stepfather says simply. "It's you."

"It's me," Harry echoes, nervously toying with his fingers.

Robin's bottom lip quivers. Behind his glasses, Harry can see his eyes watering. Without saying anything, he wraps his stepson in his arms and buries his head against his shoulder. Harry instinctively wraps his arms around him, fighting the urge to cry.

"I can't believe it," Robin says, taking a step back. "You're  _really_ here." He braces his hands on Harry's shoulders as if he may disappear again at any given moment.

"I am," Harry agrees. His mind is too overwhelmed to think of proper sentences at the moment.

Robin gives a tight smile. "It's about time, my son."

Suddenly, lighter footsteps erupt behind him. A small, dainty figure appears beside him. His wife pauses when she sees her son, lips parted, and blinks a few times. Her frizzy brown hair is pulled up in a ponytail, and she's wearing a pink t-shirt and dark-washed jeans that cling to her skinny legs like a second layer of skin.

His mother, Anne, puts her hands over her mouth and gasps. She doesn't say anything before throwing her arms around Harry and sobbing against his shoulder. Harry can feel her tears soaking the fabric of his shirt.

"Baby," Anne cries, holding him tight. "My sweet boy."

"Hi, Mum," Harry replies, not knowing what to say.

When she finally lets go, she has mascara running down her cheeks. Her hands are shaking. She looks at her son from head to toe with amazement.

"You look so good," she says happily.

Harry stifles a laugh. "I know you were probably expecting a shriveled-up heroin addict or something."

Anne shakes her head. "No, baby, I'm just— so happy you're okay."

Harry nods slowly. "Yeah, I'm okay, but we have a lot of catching-up to do," he says. "And for starters, this is my boyfriend, Louis."

Louis gives a shy wave next to him. Harry thinks this may be the first time he's actually seen Louis act so bashful. He's usually so self-assured and dominant, but it's almost refreshing to see him out of his element.

"Louis," Anne repeats, nodding. "It's very nice to meet you."

"It's freezing out there, boys," Robin says gruffly. "Come inside."

The two nod before entering the house. Inside, the air feels warm and smells like potpourri. Robin shuts the door behind them and ushers them to the living room where they all take their seats. Louis sits next to Harry on the couch while Robin and Anne take their seats in the rocking chairs across from them.

The fireplace is lit up and casts shadows of orange flames on the cream walls. Above the mantel are many framed photographs, including several of Harry, and he's almost relieved to see they hadn't taken them down over the years.

"So," Anne says, crossing her legs. "How long have you two been together?"

Louis smiles. "A couple months."

"What brings you both here... after all this time?" Robin asks, mostly to Harry.

Harry shifts uncomfortably on the couch, so Louis rests his arm over his shoulders to calm him. He takes a deep breath and stares at the floor, counting the threads of carpet in his head. Truthfully, he doesn't know if there's one precise reason why he decided to come here after all this time. It was like a rash that'd been festering under his skin over the past two years, growing and spreading, until it became unbearable.

"I guess I just... finally got my shit together," Harry says for lack of a better response.

Anne laughs softly, grabbing another tissue to wipe her tears. Robin just smiles.

"It was actually Louis who, like, pushed me to come here," Harry admits, shrugging. "But I... really missed you guys. And Gemma. I've just been too scared to come back. I didn't think you wanted me back."

Robin scoffs and shakes his head. "Of course we wanted you back, Harry."

"We missed you like crazy," Anne adds.

Harry bites his lip. "You never tried looking for me."

Anne blinks a few times in silence. "Of course we did, Harry," she huffs. "We never gave up on you. We tried filing a missing person's report, but we didn't have enough substantial evidence to prove you were in actual danger, and since you're a legal adult... there wasn't much we could do."

"And you never gave us the name of the club you work at," Robin cuts in.

Anne nods in agreement. "I tried ringing you every day for an entire month, Harry, but you changed your phone number."

Harry bites his bottom lip. "You did?"

"Yes."

"Oh," Harry says, deflated. "I was... pretty messed up back then. My memory's kinda fuzzy. All the drugs and such, y'know."

Robin's throat bobs. "Are you... clean now?"

Harry nods slowly. "Yeah. I mean, I still drink occasionally, but yeah. I'm clean."

Anne lets out an exhale, relieved. "Oh, good."

"Listen," Harry begins, biting the inside of his cheek, "I know you were just trying to help me by sending me to rehab, and I get why you were upset that I dropped out of university, but— I'm not smart like you guys. I'm never gonna be a lawyer like Robin or a nurse like Mum or a writer like Gemma. Being a stripper was the first thing I found that I was  _actually_ good at."

"But you were getting good grades, my love," Anne hesitates.

"I wasn't. I lied to you about my grades. I was failing... miserably."

"We thought you  _wanted_ to be an engineer, Harry," Robin says.

"No, Dad, that's what  _you_ wanted."

"But—"

"I'm not blaming you two," Harry clarifies. "I know I overreacted by running away, but... Louis told me I should come here and tell you guys how I felt or else I'll regret it for the rest of my life, so this is me with... my feelings."

Anne takes a deep breath and nods understandably. "I'm sorry you felt pressured by us, H."

"It's okay," Harry mumbles.

"If working at that club is something you genuinely enjoy, we shouldn't stand in your way," his stepfather says quietly.

Harry picks at a hangnail on his thumb. "Well, I don't work there anymore, actually. I quit a few months ago."

They both raise their brows in surprise. "You did?" Anne asks.

"Yeah. I work at a bar now... in Montana."

Robin's eyes widen. "Montana?"

"I moved there for a job relocation," Louis interrupts, resting his palm on his boyfriend's thigh. "Harry wanted to come with me."

"Wow," Anne exhales. "Sounds like you two are pretty serious."

Harry blushes. "We are, Mum."

"I'm happy for you, baby," Anne smiles. "And thank you, Louis, for convincing our son to come back into our lives."

Louis nods. "It's no problem," he says dismissively. "I just... ended on bad terms with my own parents, and I never got the chance to patch things up with them. I didn't want to see Harry go down the same path."

Anne looks at Louis sadly. "I'm sorry to hear that, dear."

"It's quite alright," Louis promises, looking at Harry lovingly. "I have my own family now."

The four of them talk for hours, until stars are peppering the sky and the fire has burned out to nothing but dull embers. They share stories, and Anne even shows Louis an album filled with Harry's baby photos, which causes him to flush. They stay up late, chatting, and Anne secretly fears that if they go to sleep, Harry may disappear in the middle of the night again. She couldn't bare to lose her baby again.

Eventually, Robin yawns, stretching his arms tiredly. "It's late," he says, glancing at the clock. "Or should I say early."

Anne bites her lip. "Oh, love, you're right," she agrees. "Guess we lost track of time."

"Can we stay the night here?" Harry asks. "Our returning flight isn't until Monday, so we have two days to spare."

"Of course, honey," Anne grins. "I've turned your room into a guest room. I hope you don't mind."

Harry pretends to gasp. "You mean you took down all my boyband posters and purple bed sheets? How dare you!"

Anne and Robin stand up from their chairs, laughing. His mother wraps him in a tight hug, almost suffocatingly tight, and gives him a wet kiss on the cheek. She still smells the same— like Chanel perfume and coconut shampoo.

"Goodnight, sweetheart," she whispers into his ear. "I'll call Gemma in the morning and let her know you're here. I'm so glad you're home."

Harry blinks away the tears burning in his eyes. "I'm glad, too."

Robin gives him a hug, too, and rubs his big palm on his back. He shakes Louis's hand firmly before pulling him into a hug as well.

"Thanks for taking care of our boy," he says, giving a tight smile. 

Louis nods at Robin and curls an arm around Harry's waist. "It's been my pleasure, Sir." 


	33. The Closure

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the final chapter before the epilogue! I’ve also included some smut to make up for my absense. I hope I can be forgiven. x

There's still glow-in-the-dark star stickers on Harry's ceiling; his parents never bothered to take them off. The furniture is rearranged, and there's no longer posters and pictures of his friends plastered on the wall. He immediately spots the nail polish stain on the vanilla carpet below the window, which appeared when he was seven years old and stole Gemma's pink polish to paint his own nails.

    The room is filled with memories— his first kiss with his former best mate from secondary school, Nick, on his old twin-sized bed. The time when he cried himself to sleep after his family dog died, and Gemma came in to comfort him. The times when he stayed up late studying maths because he didn't want to disappoint his father. The time when he did drugs for the first time, just a couple months before he left, in an attempt to numb the pain.

    Some of the memories are better than others.

    Louis sets his suitcase on the floor next to the bed. "Nice," he says, looking around in amusement.

    Harry nods and shuts the door behind him. "It looks a lot different," he admits.

    Louis takes off his shirt and jeans before climbing in bed, peeling back the floral duvet and white sheets. They feel soft against his legs. The comfortable mattress is like a pillow below his sore joints.

    Harry heads to the bathroom to take out his colored contacts. He changes into an oversized t-shirt but keeps his knickers on, exposing his pale thighs. He puts his hair up in a bun with an elastic band before returning to their room.

"Keeping my fangs retracted for so long is kinda painful," Harry confesses, rubbing his jaw. He lets his fangs pop out from his gums, coming to a sharp point, and licks them with his tongue.

Louis cooes. "Poor little fletchling," he teases. "You'll get used to it."

Harry rolls his eyes and slides into bed next to him. The eldest vampire immediately wraps his arms around him, kissing the top of his head. Harry can feel him smiling against his scalp.

"I'm proud of you," Louis whispers.

Harry blushes. "My parents love you," he says happily.

"Of course they do."

"Shut up."

"Make me."

Harry leans up and kisses him, lips as soft as a cloud, and slips his tongue past his fangs. Louis bites down on his bottom lip and deepens the kiss, combing his cold fingers through his hair. He smells like mint toothpaste.

"I love you," Louis whispers into the kiss.

"Love you forever," Harry echoes, straddling his waist. Louis instinctively plants his icy palms on his thighs, pushing up the hem of his t-shirt. Goosebumps pepper his pale skin.

Louis growls against his mouth. "Babe," he says desperately.

Harry's lips attach to the column of his throat. He hums questionably against his skin before nibbling where his neck meets his shoulder, just below his faded scar. His fangs scratch against his icy flesh. Louis's toes curl.

"You're such a menace," he says darkly.

"I didn't do anything wrong," Harry answers innocently, batting his eyelashes.

Louis rolls his eyes and pecks his lips. "Wanna fuck you so bad," he grumbles, ghosting his fingers up Harry's ribcage. He shivers beneath his touch.

"Then do it," Harry insists, grinding down against Louis's crotch. He feels him stiffen beneath his arse.

"Can't," Louis says softly, tilting his head.

"Why not?"

Louis scoffs softly. "We're at your parents' house, Harold."

"And?"

Louis simply shakes his head. "No."

Harry pouts and grinds down harder against Louis's cock, practically bouncing on his lap, and whimpers into his ear. "Please, Daddy? I promise I'll keep quiet."

Louis's eyes darken. "Harry..."

"Don't you want me?" Harry asks, peppering his neck with soft kisses.

Louis's hands tighten on his waist, nails digging into the flesh of his love handles. "Yes," he admits quietly.

Harry smirks with satisfaction. "Then take me," he insists.

Grunting, Louis grabs Harry's hips and flips them around, pressing Harry's stomach flat against the mattress. The springs creak beneath them. Louis immediately pulls down the lacy hem of Harry's panties, pushing them down to his knees, and seats himself between his soft legs. He brushes his fingertips over his hole, making him clench.

"Want Daddy to fuck you in your childhood bed?" he teases.

Harry bites his own bicep, moaning. "Yes, please," he mutters, voice wrecked.

"Well, since you were so good today, I suppose I can oblige," Louis decides, leaning over the edge of the bed. He grabs his toiletry bag from his suitcase and extracts a small bottle of lube.

"Lou," Harry says desperately when he hears the cap unclick.

Louis hushes him, coats his fingers with lube, presses them against his rim. He pushes two inside and begins to open him up, rubbing his fingertips against his sides. Harry squirms against the bed and pushes back against him, forcing him deeper. His jaw falls slack in pleasure, and the vein in his temple bulges as he concentrates on keeping quiet.

"Good boy," Louis praises, purposefully scraping against his próstate.

Harry bites down on his hand, eyebrows scrunched. He's trying so, _so_ hard to keep quiet, and Louis is so, _so_ proud.

"I'm gonna fuck you now," Louis announces, taking out his fingers. He pushes down the waistband of his pants and lines himself up with his stretched hole, pressing just the tip inside.

Harry moans, a little too loud, so Louis shoves his fingers into his mouth. The younger vampire instinctively sucks on them, and Louis can feel his fangs scraping against his knuckles, but he doesn't mind.

"Quiet," Louis warns, stalling his movements. "If you can't keep your mouth shut, we'll stop."

"No," Harry gasps quietly, reaching behind himself to grab Louis's thighs. To anchor him there. "Please."

Louis hums, jutting his hips forward a little bit. The muscles in Harry's back tense up. He bites down on Louis's fingers, groaning around them, but keeps his voice muffled.

The fullness of Louis's cock stretches Harry more with each thrust. He sees stars behind his eyelids. He buries his face into the pillow while Louis fucks him hard and fast into the mattress. He moans against the pillow, voice swallowed by the material, and clutches the sheets with balled fists.

"Daddy," he whimpers, turning his head slightly.

"Baby," Louis answers, emphasizing it with a particularly hard thrust against his sweet spot. He writhes.

Louis leans down and kisses him messily before pulling back, leaving his boy's lips wet and red and bitten. His golden eyes are glazed over with desire.

"Want you to come," Louis prompts, reaching beneath Harry to grasp his cock. He strokes him a few times, causing him to moan into the pillow again, neck straining.

"Oh my God," Harry gasps, thrusting into his fist while Louis fucks him.

"Quiet," Louis scolds and places his palm over his mouth.

Harry's eyelashes flutter in pleasure when Louis quickens the pace of his hips, hammering into him. Heat curls in his stomach. He comes hard into Louis's hand, biting down on the pillow beneath him, swallowing Louis's name.

"Good boy," Louis praises, petting Harry's damp curls as he collapses against the bed. He fucks into him mercilessly, gripping his shoulder with one hand.

Louis comes inside of him, burying his face into Harry's neck to keep himself quiet. Harry whimpers at the sensation and clenches around him. Feels Louis's come running between his thighs.

"Wow," Louis exhales, pulling out.

He grabs a tissue from the box on the bedside table and cleans up Harry's hole. He hums with gratitude, face content like a kitten being groomed.

"We just fucked in your childhood bed," Louis notes, pulling Harry against his chest. They both smell like sweat and sex. Louis thinks they'll definitely have to shower after this.

Harry smiles smugly. "We did."

Louis looks down at him lovingly. "I'm so proud of you," he says.

Harry scoffs. "We just fucked like animals— don't get all sweet on me."

Louis laughs. "I'm serious, babe," he assures, brushing his thumb against his cheek. "I know it wasn't easy coming here after... everything your family went through."

Harry shrugs, looks down at his fingers to avoid eye contact. He picks at his nails. "It's no big deal, Lou."

"It _is_ ," Louis assures, lifting his chin and pecking his still swollen lips. "I plan on being in your life forever— it means a lot for me to meet your family. It kinda makes this feel real."

Harry blushes. "Just  wait 'till you meet my sister tomorrow. She's gonna tell you all of the embarrassing stories from my awkward years."

Louis quirks his eyebrows. "You mean you're not _still_ in your awkward years?"

Harry playfully punches his shoulder. "Shut up."

"I'm kidding, babe," Louis laughs. "Well... sort of."

Harry rolls his eyes and kisses him, finally getting him to shut up.

°°°

When Louis and Harry stroll into the kitchen the next morning, the house smells like syrup. Anne is stood in front of the stove flipping pancakes. Sausage sizzles on a pan on the hob to her left, and the scent makes Harry's mouth water.

"Morning, Mum," Harry greets, running a hand through his bed head.

"Morning, love," his mother answers. She smiles warmly as they take their seats on the barstools. The tiled floors feel like ice beneath their bare feet. "Did you two sleep alright? I know the bed is kind of small."

Louis bites the inside of his cheek to prevent himself from making any crude comments. "We slept well," he replies. "Still kind of jet lagged, obviously."

Harry yawns and rubs his eyes with his knuckles. His colored contact almost pops out, but he subtly nudges it back inside with his pinky. "Yeah," he agrees.

"Gemma will be here shortly," Anne announces, flipping a pancake onto the plate in front of Louis.

He notices Harry's leg bouncing nervously. He places his palm on his thigh, squeezes reassuringly, and enters his thoughts. Now that Harry is emerging from his fledgling phase, the ability isn't as strong, but it's still there in the far corners of his mind, like an echoed whisper.

_It'll be alright._

Harry smiles at him sweetly and pecks his lips, muttering softly, "Thank you."

When Gemma finally does arrive, Harry panics a little. She storms through the front door, expression of anger plastered on her face. Her light brown hair is pulled up in a messy bun, like a bird's nest made of straw. Harry stands up and attempts to make amends, to explain himself, but she simply punches her little brother's bicep without a proper greeting.

"You arsehole!" she curses.

Louis stands up and tries to intervene, but Harry holds out his arm like a gate. "No, Lou, it's fine," he reassures. "She has every right to be angry."

"Damn right I do!" she nearly screams. Across the room, Anne and Robin watch nervously, not knowing what to do.

"Listen—"

"How could you do that to me, H?!" she shouts, voice cracking. Her brown eyes look like embers of raging fire. "You left me! You left _us_!"

"I know."

"You're such a selfish arsehole, Harry!"

"I know."

Her eyes are watering now. "I was worried sick about you! You were supposed to be my best friend, my _brother_ , and you just... left," she rants, fists curled at her sides.

"I'm sorry."

"And now you just show up after nearly two years without any warning?" she says angrily. "Mum says you're living in bloody Montana now?!"

"I am," Harry says, swallowing the lump in his throat. "With Louis, my boyfriend."

Gemma finally acknowledges Louis, looking at him with a gaze like a dagger. Her nose scrunches doubtfully. The freckles on her skin wrinkle together.

"So _you're_ the guy who stole my baby brother," she says, stepping towards him threateningly.

Harry rolls his eyes. "He didn't _steal_ me, Gem. He actually was the one who convinced me to come back here."

Gemma looks unsure. There's still pain written all over her face, rightfully so, and her eyes are red from crying so much. She glances back at Harry, bottom lip wobbling.

"I thought I'd never see you again, you dick," she says quietly.

"Well I'm here now."

"You are," she agrees, wiping her tears with the back of her hand. She exhales deeply and releases all her frustration. A soft expression settles on her face. The raging hurricane has succeeded, leaving only waves of uncertainty. "So why aren't you hugging me yet?"

Harry shakes his head and envelopes her in his strong arms. Her tears are wet against his shoulder, soaking the fabric of his t-shirt. He lets her cry against him, lets her whisper about how much she's missed him, about how worried she was. How she thought about him every day and blamed herself for never saying the right things about his lifestyle choices.

"It's okay," he keeps telling her.

When she finally lets go, her gaze immediately shifts back to Louis.

"Thanks for taking care of him," she says, rubbing his arm. "And thanks for bringing my little brother back to me."

Louis nods and hugs her, smiling wide. "No problem," he says passively. "Also, Harry mentioned something about some embarrassing stories, and I'd quite like to hear them."

Harry blushes and tilts his head. "Lou—"

"Oh, love," Gemma grins with subtle dimples that match Harry's. "I think we're gonna get along very well."


	34. The Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this is the ending! Thank you all so much for reading. I appreciate all of your feedback and comments. Writing this book has been a wonderful experience, and it will always hold a special place in my heart.

**_Whitehall, Montana, 2018_ **

"Louis!" Harry calls out, voice muffled around the toothbrush in his mouth. He pokes his head into Louis's office and frowns at the sight of his boyfriend sitting at his desk, typing up paperwork. He's still wearing his robe, hair wet and freshly-washed.

"What, love?" he asks, eyes not leaving his laptop screen.

"You're not even dressed yet!" Harry scoffs. "Have you seen my button-up top? The one with the flowers?"

Louis smiles. "It's in the closet, babe."

Harry rolls his eyes and momentarily disappears into their bedroom. He finds his shirt and slips it over his bare chest, quickly buttoning it. He then finishes brushing his teeth in the bathroom and gargles some mouthwash before spitting it into the sink, watching the green liquid swirl down the drain.

He returns to Louis's office, flattening his palms down his shirt to fix the wrinkles. He's still sitting at the desk reading emails, still undressed. Harry leans against the doorframe and sighs disapprovingly.

"Hurry up, Lou. We're gonna be late."

Louis spins around in his chair to face him. "The store doesn't officially open until ten o'clock."

"But I wanna get there early," Harry pouts. "My whole family's gonna be there."

"They really didn't have to fly all the way here for this," Louis huffs, tilting his head. "It's not a big deal." 

"It  _is_ a big deal!" Harry assures, bracing his hands on Louis's shoulders. "You're starting a new business.  _We're_ starting a new business. Besides, you're the one who invited them."

Louis smiles sheepishly, reaching over to place his hand on Harry's. He squeezes it softly. "It's a bookstore, Harry, not a giant corporation."

"Not yet," Harry corrects, smirking. He sits himself in Louis's lap, straddling his waist with his thighs planted on either side of him.

"You're ridiculous."

"Maybe so," Harry admits, pecking his lips. "But I also love you."

"I love you, too," Louis says quietly. He softly places his palm against the side of Harry's neck, rubbing his thumb over the faded scar in his pale skin.

Harry leans into his touch. Louis's eyes are bright silver, almost white, and he knows they'll need to eat soon. It's been over a month since their last meal, when they broke into the house of a pedophile in Missoula and killed him in the middle of the night. They can both feel the hunger crawling in their stomachs.

"We'll go to the prison in Billings after your family goes back home," Louis says, reading his thoughts.

Harry swipes his tongue over his fangs. "Okay."

Louis kisses his cheek before patting his boyfriend's thighs. "Now get up, bubs. Let me get dressed."

°°°

A few months prior, Louis had purchased a closed antique store in downtown Whitehall. It was in rough shape and in desperate need of some work and construction, but he somehow managed to transform it into a comfy, cozy bookstore with the help of Harry's keen eye for design. Louis was becoming the best businessman in the town, after investing in a small diner and a movie theater.

Louis parks his car along the side of the curb, right in front of their storefront. It's only a few doors down from the bar where Harry's still employed, which is nice for convenience. Above the freshly-painted red door is a large sign reading, "Bison Books." Harry chose the name; he said he had a knack for alliteration.

Louis grabs his keys from his back pocket and unlocks the door. The bell chimes over their heads as they step inside. The air smells like burning cinnamon candles. The wooden shelves are lined with used books, categorized by genre, with beautifully wrinkled pages and worn-out spines. It was Louis's decision to put the supernatural books first. Harry may have laughed when he walked into the store a few weeks ago to see the entire Twilight saga front and center.

There's a coffee pot brewing in the corner, free for customers to enjoy. Decorative rugs spread across the floor, and framed antique photos decorate the walls. A few sofas and comfortable chairs sit in the corner of the store.

"Alright, love," Louis sighs, placing his hands on his hips. "Will you please clean the windows? There's supplies in the bathroom under the sink. I'm gonna make sure the cash register is working."

Harry nods before grabbing the Windex and paper towels. He returns to the large floor-to-ceiling windows at the front of the store and starts polishing them to get rid of any smudges. Louis smiles at him from across the store, tucked behind the counter.

"I hope your family likes it."

"Likes what?"

"The store," Louis mutters. "And me."

Harry turns around and huffs. "They already adore you, Louis. We FaceTime them together, like, once a week."

"I know, but it's... different this time."

"Why?"

Louis bites his lip and fiddles with the receipt paper in the register. "I dunno. This is their first time coming to visit us in Montana."

"Everything's gonna be fine," Harry promises, crumpling the paper towels and tossing them in the garbage. He walks over to Louis and places his hands on his shoulders reassuringly. "The bookstore is gonna be successful. I can feel it."

"Okay," Louis mumbles. "I'm just glad we can do this together."

"Me too," Harry says, pecking his lips.

Suddenly, there's a loud knock on the door. They both look towards the entrance to see Robin, Anne, and Gemma standing on the pavement outside, waving enthusiastically. Harry grins and runs over to the door, unlocks it, and lets them inside.

"Hi!" Harry greets, hugging each of them. "How was your flight?"

"Long," Gemma sighs, brushing her hair out of her eyes. "This place looks great!"

Anne wraps her arms around Louis and kisses his cheek. "You've done a good job with this place, love."

"Looks amazing!" Robin marvels, glancing around in awe.

"Oh, and we got you this!" Gemma says. She reaches into her bag and pulls out a long, red strip of fabric.

Louis looks at it with confusion. "What is this?"

"A grand opening ribbon to cut!" she explains.

Louis laughs and thanks them, ignoring the growing knot in his stomach.

°°°

The grand opening is a success. A large flood of locals visit the store, and they make a decent amount in sales. After the store closes around eight o'clock, Louis, Harry, and his family all head back to their house for a late dinner. Harry's parents and sister spend their time gawking at their beautiful house while the couple cooks dinner in the kitchen.

"The opening went well," Harry comments, leaning his cheek against Louis's shoulder while he boils some pasta on the stove. The steam makes his skin appear more lively than usual. Harry kisses his temple.

"It did," Louis confirms with a nod. He carries the pot over to the sink and drains the pasta. It smells lovely, and Louis wishes he could taste it. Despite living forever, being a vampire isn't all perks.

"You kinda swept Robin off his feet with your smart business man talk," Harry grins.

Louis just smiles, but his eyes don't crinkle.

"Hey," Harry says quietly, touching his boyfriend's wrist. His skin feels like ice. "Are you okay?"

Louis busies himself by cutting up some tomatoes. He adds them to the top of the pasta as well as the sauce, drizzling it on top. 

"Yeah, I'm okay, why?"

"You've just been acting strange all day."

"I'm fine." He pecks Harry's nose for emphasis. "I was just nervous about the bookstore, 's all."

Harry opens his mouth to say something, but Louis interrupts.

"Dinner's ready!" he calls out loudly, plating the pasta.

He carries it over to the table in the dining room, which is already prepared and set nicely. Hand-painted plates from France and polished silverware cover the glass surface. Lit candles act as the centerpiece, flickering orange light on the white walls.

They all take their seats around the table and begin eating. Harry kind of hates eating human food nowadays, because it basically feels like torture. He can smell the delicious food and feel it in his mouth, feel the warmth, but he can't  _taste_ it. He craves nothing but blood, and being around humans like his family doesn't make his hunger any easier.

"This is delicious, Louis," Gemma says around a mouthful of pasta.

"You're disgusting," Harry scolds, swatting her arm. "Shut your mouth."

"Louis is practically family now," Gemma insists, still chewing. "Manners don't matter."

Robin laughs. Anne just shakes her head and smiles.

"Anyway, I'd like to propose a toast," Robin says, raising his glass of white wine. "To Louis and Harry and their new business, and their future together."

"Aw, Dad," Harry blushes.

"Cheers!" they all shout, clinking their glasses together.

After a few moments, Louis clears his throat. "I forgot something in the kitchen. I'll be right back," he says, standing up from the table. The wooden legs of his chair scrape audibly against the floor.

Harry gives him a strange look. Seconds later, he returns to the table with a bouquet of red roses. Gemma gasps and pretends to grab them.

"Oh, Louis, you shouldn't have!" she teases.

Harry rolls his eyes at her. "Back off from my man."

"These are for you, my love," Louis says, handing the flowers to him.

Harry smiles, dimples and all. "Thank you, baby."

He ducks his head to smell them, looking at the intricate swirling patterns of the crimson petals. They're beautiful. The plastic wrap crinkles in his hands.

"They're so pretty."

"There's a note."

Raising his eyebrow, Harry looks down at the heart-shaped note taped to the side of the bouquet. He opens it, eyes scanning over the words slowly. His world stops.

_Will you marry me?_

"Lou..." he gasps, eyes already watering.

When he looks over, Louis is already on one knee with a ring between his fingers. It's black and silver, a sharp contrast between the two colors, and utterly beautiful. Life and death. Diamonds glimmer on its surface in the candlelight.

"Harry Edward Styles," Louis says, surprisingly calm. He's probably rehearsed this a million times, because that's just the type of person he is. "When I met you, it wasn't under the most glamorous circumstances. We were in a dirty strip club, and I was judgemental of your lifestyle. I didn't know the story behind the pretty exotic dancer named Rose. But when we started getting to know each other, I realized how wrong I was. I realized how sweet you are. I realized how funny you are. I realized how smart, brave, and generous you are. You took a sad man who'd forgotten how to love and taught him how to love again. You gave my life meaning again."

He pauses his speech to lick his lips, and Harry has his hands over his mouth in shock, staring down at his boyfriend with wide, wet eyes.

"I know I want to spend the rest of my life with you," Louis says confidently. "So, will you make me the happiest man on earth and marry me?"

Harry doesn't respond for a second, processing it all. His eyelashes are clumped with tears. They've only been together for a little over two years, but Louis knows he can't imagine his life without Harry in it. He wants to spend a million lifetimes with him, moving across the globe together.

"Oh my god," Harry finally exhales. "Of course I'll marry you."

Louis grins and slips the ring over Harry's finger. His mouth is open in awe, staring at the beautiful ring on his pale skin. It's beautiful. He immediately cups Louis's cheeks between his hands and kisses him passionately. He can feel Louis smiling against his lips.

When they eventually break apart, Harry wipes his eyes and turns towards his family. "Look, guys, I'm engaged!" he says, flashing them his ring.

Gemma examines his hand carefully. "It looks beautiful, Lou."

Anne nods in agreement. "Just like the picture you sent us."

Harry's head snaps towards his parents. "Wait, you  _knew_?!"

"Of course we knew!" Robin scoffs. "That's why we flew all the way out here."

Harry laughs softly. "And here I was thinking you actually cared about our bookstore."

"Well, there's that too, but I think this is a little more important."

"Yeah," Harry agrees, looking at Louis. The love of his life. His  _fiancè_. "Nothing is more important than this."

°°°

The day before their wedding, Louis decides to get a tattoo of a dagger to mark his life spent in Montana. Just like the rest of his tattoos, he wants it to represent his time spent in this location. They're sitting in a tattoo parlor in Billings, and Louis is squeezing Harry's hand as the tattoo artist traces the outline of the dagger on his bicep.

"So, why a dagger?" the man asks, rubbing off the stray ink with his latex glove.

Louis uses his spare hand to tap the rose tattoo on Harry's arm. Harry smiles lovingly at his husband-to-be.

"To match."

**_Almería, Spain, 2027_ **

They buy a seaside mansion— their first house purchase as  _husbands_ , not boyfriends. After 9 years of marriage, the word still makes Harry's stomach flutter. They even buy a yacht to dock nearby. Louis invests in real estate and buys one of the hotel resorts nearby, and Harry takes on the job as co-manager. At the end of their stay there, Louis gets a tattoo of a boat on his calf.

**_Bergen, Norway, 2039_ **

Louis is a drama professor at the University of Bergen. Harry becomes a bartender at one of the local gay clubs. Louis gets a tattoo of an owl on his shoulder, the university's emblem.

**_Manaus, Brazil, 2050_ **

Louis starts working for the country's nature preservation organization as a scientist. Harry works alongside him, wanting to expand his knowledge in biology and entomology. Louis gets a tattoo of a new species of beetle they discovered together on his ankle.

**_Port Elizabeth, South Africa, 2061_ **

Louis opens an art gallery in the city, and Harry works at a cafe down the street. Louis gets a tattoo of Port Elizabeth's latitude and longitude on his wrist.

**_Brisbane, Australia, 2072_ **

Louis and Harry start an LGBT youth shelter together, providing beds and meals for disowned kids. Louis gets a tattoo of a rainbow flag on his chest.

**_Marquette, Michigan, 2083_ **

Louis starts working as an elementary teacher. Harry opens his own bakery. Louis gets a tattoo of a mitten on his forearm.

**_London, England, 2092_ **

They return to England after all these years. Harry's family has long since passed away, but he's learned to cope with it. After they moved out of Montana, Louis and Harry told them all the truth, and they swore to keep their vampiric lives a secret from the public. They all took their secrets to their graves and never told a soul.

Harry reopens Fool's Gold under his ownership, promising safety and health to all of its employees. Louis becomes the employee manager and does his job a million times better than Liam ever did. Even though Harry doesn't strip for customers, he does give Louis some private shows every once in a while.

To mark this lifetime, Louis gets Harry's initials tattooed on his ring finger.

There are countless other lives they experience too, relocating every ten or so years to a fresh start. They stick by each other through it all, and Louis has the ink on his skin to prove it. But there is nobody else he would rather spend all this time with.

Like Louis said in their wedding vows: "A love like this only occurs once in a lifetime, and luckily, our love is strong enough to withstand a million of them." 

_The End._


End file.
